Red
by arachnophilia
Summary: After Karen's death and Peter's divorce from Mary Jane, Matt and Peter have a one-night stand that leads to something much deeper. Matt/Peter. Rated for language, sexuality and violence in later chapters.
1. The End of Karen Page

This actually started as a claim for the unloveyou challenge over at LiveJournal (and continues to be). This series is predominantly Peter/Matt, though there are mentions of Peter's past with Mary Jane and Matt's with Karen. There will be no woman-bashing here; I happen to adore the hell out of MJ and Karen, myself.

Enjoy!

* * *

It started with Karen Page.

He still heard her dying in his sleep: the rush of her footsteps as she put herself in front of him, the sound of the billy club burying itself in her chest, the way she choked as she fell back. Trying to block out her breathing, erratic and dying, the affirmation of her death that he wasn't ready to face. The warmth leaving her body when she told him that she would miss him.

Matt had changed. Everything had changed now; sounds seemed a bit duller, laughter a bit quieter. Time itself seemed to slow, as if the earth had stopped when she had died and was taking its time catching up with itself. Or perhaps ... perhaps that was all in his head. And Matt really didn't care at the moment. He didn't care if he was with people, ones he did or didn't know, couldn't bring himself to a reaction when Foggy announced they had a new client. Matt worked diligently, but his spirit wasn't in it. He felt the same in a crowded room as he did alone. Even Foggy's voice seemed painfully far away.

And then, there was Peter. Peter's was the only voice that came in loud and clear; perhaps it was because Peter was _different_. He never talked about court cases or lunch dates or normal people things, the way other people did. And after a while, he'd stopped talking about losing people; he knew that constantly talking about Karen's death would keep the wound wide open, and it was clear Peter was helping Matt to _heal_. He stopped in more often now, sometimes to tip him off on something that was going down -- and sometimes, just to sit. Not say anything, really, to avoid accusations, regret, or simply just dwelling. Things Peter did regularly, but seemed determined to keep Matt away from. He was just _there_, letting Matt know he wasn't alone in any of it. He rarely stayed more than an hour, but Matt appreciated it, and he was recovering, coming back to life on his own time. Peter still swung around, less and less to just _be_ with him, more and more to tell him about illegal shipments, gang wars, plots. Things they would _always_ be able to talk about, no matter what.

Tonight, though. Tonight was different the second Peter slipped through the window; he could taste it in the air, and when Matt didn't immediately ask him what was wrong (he always assumed there was trouble, right off), Peter just eased himself in, leaving the window open.

"Matt...?"

"Go home, Peter. Not tonight." Matt's voice carried from the living room, quiet but _harsh_ now.

Peter's brows furrowed beneath his mask; tugging it off, he made his way to the living room, expecting, perhaps, to see Matt _injured_. The way he'd spoken said he was out of breath or in _pain_, but there was no blood. No suit. Just Matt, in his boxers and wifebeater, sitting on his couch, forehead cradled in his hand. Rocking gently back and forth, he accidentally let a sniff slip out, thinking that Peter hadn't heard it.

"I said go home." But Peter didn't really seem to be_ listening_ to him; Matt rarely got _upset_ in a rock-back-and-forth-with-a-runny-nose kind of way, and he was too busy processing it. It had been _weeks_ since Karen's death, and Peter hadn't seen Matt cry once. Brood, rant, rave, hit things, or _yell_, yes, but never cry, and it was setting Peter off balance.

"Matt, are you--"

"Just go. I don't need you here," Matt hissed, swallowing hard. Trying to keep it together, stiffening when he felt Peter's hand on his shoulder, his weight settling down on the couch in direct opposition to what Matt had _asked_. Peter never listened to Matt; why would he start now?

Peter's hand was gentle and warm, lightly rubbing Matt's back, placating. And Matt, for all his efforts, found it hard to stay stiff. People tended to misunderstand what his senses meant, what his _blindness_ meant; for weeks, he'd gone without much contact with another human being, as much avoiding them as they avoided him in his grief. But here Peter was, offering up that human contact, allowing him an affirmation of life itself. If Matt could feel something, listen to its heartbeat, its breathing, it must have been alive. Wonderfully, gloriously alive.

The way Karen had been.

"You don't have to do this alone," Peter told him quietly, still trying to think of the best way to handle a Matt on the verge of _tears_. For all he knew, Matt cried all the time; he'd just never let Peter know it.

Those words were enough, upset as he was, as good as _Peter_ was being to him -- that was enough. Enough for Matt to lean in, rest his head against Peter's shoulder, and finally just _cry_. They were hard, bitter tears, honest ones. Bottled up for weeks, given up to a warm body and a kind voice. Peter cradled Matt's face against his chest when Matt clung to him, almost seeming _afraid_ to let Peter go. Afraid that if he stopped hearing that heartbeat, he'd lose someone else, too. And Peter, God bless him, took it in stride, holding him like this was nothing out of the ordinary, murmuring to him the way Matt imagined Aunt May did to Peter when he cried. Letting Matt lean, break, cling, _sob_ into the fabric of his suit, neither caring if Matt dirtied it.

Matt couldn't pretend those hands were Karen's, or that heartbeat or that scent. He couldn't pretend she was there now, brushing his hair back and murmuring about how everything would be okay. He couldn't pretend the body he so fervently clung to was hers in any way. Everything about it screamed Peter, but Peter could be enough. Nothing would ever be Karen ever again, but Peter? Peter would do. For now.


	2. And Mary Jane Walks Away

Matt had ended up ... clinging to Peter, after Karen's death. Not physically, of course, but when he wasn't working, he always found some way of being close to Peter -- usually as Daredevil, alongside Spider-Man. It was probably slightly obsessive, but Peter didn't seem to mind, knowing Matt needed someone to keep him grounded in reality, someone who _got it_. He had Foggy, but ... the understanding of losing a loved one in such a _brutal_ way just wasn't there. Peter had lost people. Peter had lost one girlfriend to superhero business, an innocent. He understood.

So it was no surprise that Matt was the first to know when Mary Jane filed for divorce.

It was just too much, Peter had said. It was all too much for her. Being kidnapped, being in danger, the fights, Spider-Man getting into everything, the unreliability. The isolation from the rest of the world, imprisoned by Peter's secrets. She'd wanted to be free. She wanted ... normal. Deserved it. She'd always love him but she just couldn't _take_ it anymore.

Matt had come over, surprised when Peter wasn't in his suit already. She'd left because of Spider-Man, and at the moment, Peter wanted some distance. Just enough to sit at home and be _upset_, instead of swinging around in his tights and hating himself for doing exactly what had driven Mary Jane away. Matt didn't have to _say_ anything; he just sat, touched Peter's back, his shoulder. Smoothed back his hair. Eventually, Matt pressed his mouth to Peter's shoulder, resting against him as a comforting presence. It didn't seem to occur to Matt that he was getting too close, and Peter was too upset to really care.

It took him a long time to cry, and when he did, Matt just waited it out, breathing evenly and closing his eyes, letting Peter be upset.

And then, eventually:

"I don't remember how to be alone."

Matt squeezed Peter's shoulder. "You don't have to be alone."


	3. Drinking Buddies and Shoe Sizes

Peter was single for the first time in what felt like _years_, and he decided he didn't like it. But at least he had Matt, someone who understood _exactly_ what had happened, instead of the half-assed reasons he'd had to give everyone else.

At the moment, though, he was in a pretty good mood. The night had been easy, and Peter had swung down the Hell's Kitchen to see what Matt was up to. They'd eventually elected to go back to Matt's apartment and just hang out; the night was quiet, they could afford a little time to themselves, take off their masks and just relax for a little while.

"--better off without her, Pete," Matt was saying, tossing Peter a can of soda and adding, "Maybe it's a sign."

Peter snorted, opening the can and listening to it hiss. "What _sign_? That I shouldn't be married?" Losing MJ still stung, obviously, but she'd been gone for, what ... a month? Month and a half? Something like that, point was, it had been a iwhile, and Peter was doing his best to move on. "Or that I should avoid redheads?"

"I wouldn't say you should avoid redheads. Just that particular redhead."

That seemed to make Peter _laugh_, taking a sip of Sprite before he leaned over the kitchen counter. "Then what kind of redheads should I be looking for?" Easy, friendly ... a little flirtatious. They'd been spending a _lot_ of time together, and it was ... totally harmless, yes? They were friends. Really good friends.

Matt seemed to pause at that, cracking open his own can and shrugging, taking a long drink before he answered. "One that can handle your lifestyle. But I wouldn't limit yourself based on hair color."

"My lifestyle? You make me sound less like a superhero and more like a ... you know."

"Queer?"

"What are you, thirteen?"

Matt snorted. "You know what I mean. Besides, you do run around in tights and tell bad jokes. Not my fault if you decide to parade around and act like a fruit."

"_Ouch_. I think you just hurt my feelings." Peter brought a hand over his heart and pretended to sway in pain.

"Because your feelings are _so_ delicate. Man up, Spidey." Matt shook his head, grinning, even if it was in a mildly amused, sarcastic kind of way.

"Just because I'm not a crazy leather-clad boxer doesn't mean I'm not a man," he countered. "I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality not to need a big stick to make my point."

"Are you calling me queer, Peter Parker?"

"Tch, no. I'm just saying, I think you're compensating for something." Peter clucked his tongue against his teeth.

Matt _laughed_. "I'd rather have something to compensate for than have nothing at all."

"..._Ow_, Matty. I mean it. If you were aiming for my heart, you were right on target."

And right at that moment, nothing else imattered, except having fun. Peter even forgot for a couple of minutes he was single, and it was worth it. Later they would hear sirens and go out again, only to go back to their respective homes and sleep for three hours before work the next day, to do their jobs and brood about lost lovers, but right inow? Right now, the most important thing in life was defending relative shoe sizes, and that felt pretty damn good, all things considered.


	4. The One Night Stand

"--oh, no, wait, Matt Damon's a cop, but he's the bad guy with Jack Nicholson and ... he's dating the therapist."

"Jack Nicholson?"

"No, Matt Damon."

"Matt Damon's the therapist?"

"He's Irish."

"...I get it now."

"Really?"

"Absolutely not."

Peter rolled his eyes, gently elbowing Matt in the side. "Whatever, everyone dies at the end, anyway. It's like a Shakespearean comedy."

"Tragedy. Like Macbeth."

"I thought Macbeth was a comedy."

"_No_."

"_I_ thought it was funny."

It was useless, trying to explain a movie to Matt. Why they were watching it in the first place, Peter had no idea. Probably for something to do other than just sit around and drink beer, since ... a couple of guys, sitting around, drinking beer and moping was a lot worse than a couple of guys, sitting around, drinking beer, moping, and laughing at a movie that wasn't supposed to be funny. They were both tired, the explanation of the plot was half-hearted, and Peter was making it up as he went along, really.

"You are so full of shit, Pete," Matt said with half of a laugh. They'd both had a long, hard day, and the only reason Peter had been invited over was because they'd tag teamed some new technovillain prowling around the Kitchen.

Peter snorted. "Like you know what Macbeth was about."

"Shut up," Matt groaned like Peter's voice was hurting his head. He really should have been in bed by now, but he hasn't asked Peter to leave yet. Yawning, he stretched, settling back down -- right on Peter's shoulder, resting his head. "What's happening now?"

"Um." Peter stared at Matt for a moment, a little more tense now. He's never gotten that close before, and it makes Peter ... uncomfortable. There's no way Matt could be oblivious to the ever so slight quick beat of his heart.

Calm down. Stop freaking out. He was just being friendly. Just ... being _friendly_. Of course. And tired. He was tired, and a little bit buzzed. They were both a little bit buzzed. So. Beer and tiredness.

It was nothing.

"DiCaprio and Nicholson are making goopy eyes at each other."

"Really?"

"Would you know the difference?"

"_Yes_." Matt sounded a little too enthusiastic about it, as if he really _wanted_ Peter to know it. His hand crept up, resting over Peter's heart. "I would feel it."

Peter felt like he couldn't _breathe_. Jesus, Peter, stop being so gay.

"Oh."

"I would feel it here." Matt shifted his fingers over Peter's shirt. "And ... here."

Lips were against Peter's throat and he _froze_. It wasn't necessarily a kiss; Matt had his mouth pressed to the pressure point, just under Peter's jaw, the beat of his heart pounding. He swallowed hard, waiting to see what Matt would ido.

"I can feel it right here," Matt reiterated, running his tongue over Peter's skin. Peter couldn't smell the beer on his breath, but he wanted to believe that Matt was more drunk than he'd originally thought.

This is too confusing otherwise. And it was a little bit too good to believe otherwise; there was no way that Peter could be having a slight conflict with his sexual orientation the same time Matt chose to kiss his throat. His life didn't work that way.

"Probably can," Peter breathed.

"It's _racing_."

"I know."

Slowly kissing the skin, Matt pulled back an inch or two, leaning up and pressing his mouth to Peter's temple. "Here, too," he murmured.

Peter turned his head, meaning to ask what the hell Matt was _doing_, but it was lost somewhere between staring and impulsively leaning up for a hard, desperate kiss. This was _wrong_, they were both men, but ... _God_, it felt good, and Peter groaned in relief.

The kisses were hungry, harsh and devoid of any sort of romance. There were moans when Peter sucked on Matt's tongue, moans when Matt pulled Peter closer, moans when he tugged Peter's hair. Graceless, animal moans and they were _perfect_. They weren't paying attention to what could potentially be too far, Matt biting at Peter's mouth while he pushed a hand down between the other man's legs.

Another desperate groan. Peter rose into Matt's hand, grateful for the friction, concentrating on how good it felt and brushing aside the embarrassment. He had a hard on, because _Matt_ was kissing him -- and now, because Matt was touching him, tugging at his pants, shoving past the clothes, cradling him with his ibare hand.

There was a moment where they pulled back, devoid of sound save their staggered panting. Not so much nuzzling as using each other for support. Matt had never touched another man that way before (not to Peter's knowledge), and Peter had never let a man that close to begin with. There was a moment of utter fascination -- and of discomfort. Of 'what the hell are we doing'?

Neither of them moved. Not until Matt breathed, "It's big."

Peter wasn't sure what to say to that. Not that he could manage it if he wanted to.

Matt leaned back in for another hard kiss, muttering, "Let me--" Without waiting for permission, his hand was moving again, trapped between the spandex Peter wore under his clothes and his skin, sweaty hand slipping haphazardly. He earned another moan into his mouth, Peter shifting against Matt's hand, their rhythms just off enough to be clumsy.

They didn't speak again, not while Matt was touching him like that. Matt touched himself, and it was clear he was doing what made _him_ come -- and at the moment, that's definitely enough for Peter, involuntarily bucking, clinging to Matt's shirt. Matt grunted with the effort, whining almost inaudibly when it took longer than Matt expected.

But Matt got what he wanted, and Peter came into his hand with a bitten-back _groan_. Panting, Peter buried his face into Matt's neck. There was no room to question this; it wasn't worth the answers they would get.

Matt let his hand rest there for a moment, sticky and sweaty and feeling Peter soften. Breathing against Peter's hair, Matt shifted uncomfortably, grunting quietly and pressing up against the other man -- and it wasn't until then that Peter realized Matt was hard, too. As if it hadn't occurred until now.

Hard and against his leg, moving against Peter like he wanted to do more than just grind against his thigh. Peter shifted, reaching down to return the favor, only to have Matt catch his wrist.

Matt opened his mouth, struggling with whatever it was he wanted to say -- and then, eventually, breathy and panting:

"I want to fuck you." Like it was an embarrassing admission, but he was _desperate_.

And for some reason, Peter didn't find the idea absolutely _repulsive_. He should have, but he didn't, and there was no good way to articulate that. Pushing up off the couch, torn between fear at the situation and fear at _wanting_ it, he backed away, unable to do much more than _stare_, even as Matt got up and followed him. Thinking it was some sort of chase.

Maybe it was.

The next few moments were a flurry of movement; crashing back together, they tugged at clothes, Peter's legs still shaking from his orgasm, boxers wet where Matt had wiped his hand off. They were naked before Peter had a moment to think, Matt's hands desperate and harried when he tossed clothes aside, roughly guided Peter to his bedroom, pushed him down onto the bed.

Peter got the feeling that something was missing here, but he let himself be pushed around. Matt's urgency, his obvious need to ifuck, was both intimidating and incredibly _arousing_, and Peter just didn't know how to tell him no.

A hand in Peter's hair to keep him on his hands and knees, Matt kept grinding against the other man's ass, needing the friction; a quiet sucking noise and a needy groan were the only way Peter knew what was going on, the only way he knew Matt was sucking on his own fingers and that this was really _happening_.

"Matt--!" Peter _gasped_ when he felt Matt's fingers pushing _inside_ him; he couldn't see, he hadn't _expected_ that.

"_What_?" Matt hissed, hurriedly moving his fingers in and out of Peter instead of taking that as a sign to stop.

Peter whimpered, sucking in short breaths and closing his eyes. Again, he couldn't say no. The part of him that _wanted_ this wouldn't let him. "Forget it," he breathed. "Forget it, go ahead--"

It was all the permission Matt needed before _pushing_ into Peter, guiding his cock with his hand and igroaning, almost painfully. There was something missing (something like, oh ... _lubricant_), and it _hurt_. It _burned_, but Peter gritted his teeth while Matt whimpered, thrusting into him like it was a compulsion.

It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't soft or gentle, and at first, it was barely all that _good_, but neither of them were willing to yield. It was harsh, helpless _fucking_, Matt's hand painfully tight in Peter's hair, his other hand digging into the skin of Peter's hip, the slap of skin on skin as loud as the sounds they made even as Matt buried his face into Peter's shoulder.

It only lasted a minute, but it felt like _forever_, Matt coming _hard_ and whimpering against Peter's back. Panting, the moment was istill -- until Matt rolled off onto his back, letting Peter curl up against a pillow.

There was no room for talking. No room for questions. It wasn't worth answers they'd get just yet -- but still, oddly enough, Peter found himself grinning softly. Helplessly.

Because Matt looked pretty damn good like that, eyes closed and panting. Catching his breath because he wanted Peter so bad he couldn't help it.

It was a nice feeling.


	5. Don't Be Queer, Pete

It had been a long, hard night.

It had just ... kind of happened. It wasn't supposed to happen. Things had just gotten out of control. He just needed to start from the beginning, think the night through, and he'd end up with a good reason as to why he was ... in Matt's bed.

Beer. There had been beer. Enough for Peter to get a bit buzzed; he must have had a lot, but he couldn't remember Matt drinking much at all. So. Beer. Couch. Some movie, he couldn't remember which one, just that he'd been quietly telling Matt what was happening during the non-verbal scenes. So good so far. Matt leaning over; he'd been tired. Peter had let him rest against his shoulder. Nothing strange about that.

Peter rubbed his eyes, turning onto his shoulder. What the hell had happened next? He groaned softly, feeling unusually stiff -- and a little sore. A little sweaty, but maybe they'd gone out on patrol again or--

--Oh. _Oh_, right. Matt's mouth on his neck, on his own mouth. It was blurry from then, but Peter _distinctly_ remembered Matt's hand between his legs -- and _Matt_ against his thigh.

Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus.

Peter would like to assure himself that it didn't go much further, but, well ... it was safe to say he wouldn't walk the same after that. Turning back over, he saw that Matt had his back to him -- probably awake, he was always awake. They'd been ... kind of flirting for a while, but he hadn't expected Matt to take him seriously, and Peter ... hell, there was no way Peter would have admitted out loud to being attracted to Matt when he had just _barely_ admitted it to himself. Maybe that was why he'd _let_ this happen.

Still, Matt looked like he was sleeping and peaceful, and Peter ... had to appreciate that. Smile a little bit.

And then he looked up at the clock.

"Crap--!" Bolting out of bed, Peter vaguely heard Matt grunt in surprise, roll over while Peter tried to remember where the hell his clothes were. (He was naked. He was _naked_ in Matt's bed holycrapwhatexactlyhadhappened?) "Crap. Crap crap--Matt, have you seen my pants?"

"Seen your--Peter, I never see anything," Matt drawled, sounding a little dazed and confused. Like he wasn't sure why Peter was in his room in the first place. Hn.

"Right. Whatever. Stupid question."

"The hell are you _rushing_...?"

"_Work_!" And he was late. He was going to be really late. Finally finding his underwear, he pulled them on -- grimacing. That did not feel good. He didn't even want to think about it; there wasn't time to process. Dressing as he found his clothes, Peter only stopped when Matt spoke up again, sounding less confused and more awake.

"Pete, hold up."

"What?"

"About... you know."

Peter paused, forgetting work for a second to look back over. Matt looks ... different, half sitting up in bed, in desperate need of a shower, hair sticking up. The blanket was up to his chest, but Peter knew what was under it, and thinking about what that meant made him swallow hard.

"Yeah? What about it? It, um ... it was a surprise. Don't sweat it." Peter tried to smile reassuringly, forgetting that Matt won't see it.

"Oh." Matt cleared his throat. "Okay." Like he'd expected Peter to ... flip out a little bit more. "So I'll see you again tonight, right?" It was a totally normal question for them to ask each other regardless, but there's added weight to it now.

"Matt, you never see anything," Peter quipped. "But sure." Pausing for a moment, he moved back over to the bed, leaning over to kiss Matt -- totally on impulse, but after last night, a kiss was nothing, right?

--Apparently, he was wrong. Matt turned his face away at the last second, leaving Peter to press his mouth to his hair.

"Come on, Pete. Don't be queer."

Peter recoiled like he'd been _burned_, frowning. But he was late for work, there wasn't time to bring up ... hello, who was touching who last night, jackass?

But he decided not to answer. Because he was late for work.

...Right.


	6. Location Location Location

Work was awkward. Not because anything went particularly wrong (which it didn't), but the night before had him a bit shaken. But work was work, and it was easy to just _work_ and not think about it. He was teaching a section of Biology this year, and he had to pay attention; Peter was qualified, of course, but it wasn't his forte.

He was back in his element by the end of the day, back in the chemistry labs and watching kids try not to kill themselves on the burners. That was what he was really there for; teaching came secondary to keeping his students _alive_, and after one of them nearly set his sleeve on fire, Peter was more wary than ever.

He was more at ease when he packed up to leave. He hadn't forgotten that morning, but the sick, uncomfortable feeling was mostly gone. Things were going to go back to normal, because ... well. Peter had told Matt they'd see each other again tonight, and he didn't lie if he could help it.

That doesn't stop him from wondering if he _wants_ to go back, because he couldn't shake the feeling that something was ... off. Peter just shoved it to the back of his mind. He'd deal with it later.

--Or not.

Karma had it out for him. Peter nearly iran right in to none other than Matt freakin' Murdock walking out of the building. Bizarre. Peter blames his spider senses for not being on their game; even the _students_ were avoiding the strange blind man standing in front of the building--well, avoiding getting in his way but hanging around to watch.

"Uh. _Hi_." Peter looked up at him, moving back a step. He didn't like looking up at Matt, but Peter looked up at _most_ other superheroes. (What, was there some kind of rule? You must be at least six feet tall to wear spandex and have a retarded superhero name? What the hell?)

"Hi." Matt pushed up his glasses, clearly not at his most comfortable.

"What..." He can't think of a question that isn't rude. What are you doing in Queens? What the hell are you doing standing in the middle of everything? What's going on? And now the kids were staring. _Great_.

"We need to talk."

"Right _here_?" Come on, Matt. Location location location.

"I didn't feel like waiting for you." Matt didn't seem to mind the staring. Of course not. He was _blind_, damn it.

"Well, thanks." Still staring. Point, please? "Should we go somewhere, you know ... private?" Even as he said it, he turned to shoo kids away. Not that they listened for more than a few seconds.

"What, afraid to have an adult conversation in front of virgin ears?" Matt smirked, taking a step forward, uncomfortably close. Peter just rolled his eyes, took another step back.

"Exactly that. Come on, my classroom's empty."

It must have looked strange, and Peter felt a little uncomfortable with Matt's hand on his shoulder the whole way. But he was blind, they understood. Closing the door behind them, Peter locked it, watching Matt's face as he breathed in the chemical and chalk smells of the room, scrunching his nose.

"So."

"_So_," Matt repeated. "About last night."

Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "What about it?"

"I thought about it."

"Clearly."

"I want it to happen again."

Peter hesitated, moving around to clear up some equipment. "Who says _I_ want it to happen again?"

Matt stopped, looking temporarily crestfallen--and then that annoying smirk, the one that said Matt knew more about you than you did. "You don't mean that."

"But what if I did?"

"You don't. I can hear it."

"That's what you said last night."

"No, actually, I said I would--"

"--feel it." And boy, did Matt _feel_ it. "What about this morning?"

That made Matt hesitated, before approaching Peter with accuracy no blind man should have, taking his wrist. "I ... it's complicated."

Peter frowned. "Sure it was. You fucked me and then decided that a goodbye kiss was _queer_. Yeah. I can totally see the complications there."

"Look. Peter." Matt made a sound of frustration, grinding his teeth. "Let me make it up to you." Looked like Peter wasn't getting an explanation. Instead, he was getting backed up against the table, Matt leaning on his hands on either side of Peter's hips, the cane momentarily set aside.

Peter glanced at the door, through the filmy plastic window. Just to make sure no one was watching. "Like how?"

"We ... can ... --We'll grab dinner. Let me buy you dinner, we'll get a pizza or something."

"What, as opposed to the clearly aphrodisiac Chinese food from last night?" He slept with Matt Murdock. Peter was still getting used to that.

"God _damn_ it, Peter, do you have to be such a pain in the ass about this?" Peter opened his mouth to reply, but Matt had already leaned in, twisting a hand in Peter's hair before kissing him solidly on the mouth. Anything to make Peter _shut up_.

Short of crawling up on the table, Peter really didn't have anywhere to go, and after a sound of protest and a moment of aggravation, Peter grabbed the front of Matt's shirt and just decided to kiss him back. Matt _groaned_, stepping in rather than pulling Peter forward, leaving him no room to move between Matt's body and the table. Peter insistently pushing his tongue past Matt's lips is met with another expressive little groan, Matt gratefully sucking. Like it was a sign that Peter was going to stop being such a pain about the whole thing. And then there was that well-placed hand on the inside of Peter's thigh, dangerously close to sliding _up_--

A knock at the door startled the both of them--though _Peter_ was the only one to pull back, Matt leaning forward and kissing Peter's neck like he didn't _give_ a damn until Peter pushed him back. Students. Of course. After school kids. He didn't have anything scheduled, so it couldn't be more than a quick question.

Well. Except for the fact that Lance Milligan and his friends on the football team were all crammed at the window to get a look at their chemistry teacher tonguing some blind guy.

_Great_.


	7. Progress Or Something Like It

Matt hadn't seen Peter in a couple of days.

He wasn't sure if it was an accident, or if Peter was avoiding him. He wasn't sure where they stood any more. After that incident at the school, they hadn't really spoken too much. Peter had ended up staying longer than he'd meant to at the school--to talk to the principal. It seemed that he'd caused Peter quite a bit of trouble, showing up and kissing him like that.

Matt felt bad, but he didn't regret it. And now, he was left in the cold. Wondering. Maybe Peter had gotten into some kind of trouble, maybe he'd gotten busy. Maybe he just hadn't had time. It was hard to tell, when Peter wouldn't come around.

He was embarrassed to say that he actually waited at night. Hoping Peter was swing by. So he listened to the window--and was _startled_ when someone knocked on his door.

Peter's heartbeat, mostly even but not entirely at ease. Like he'd had a stressful day and it hadn't quite been shaken off. The scent of chalk dust and cheap soap drifted through the cracks in the door, mingling with that smell that so clearly said '_I'm Peter Parker_'. Matt actually stood there for a moment, breathing it in and resting his head against the door.

When he finally opened it with a, "Hey", Peter didn't answer, moving in too fast for Matt to really back out of his way. He felt the air shift before Peter touched his face, cradled the back of his neck, kissing him solidly on the mouth and pushing the door closed behind him.

Pulling back, Peter nuzzled him, and Matt could feel Peter's eyelashes against his skin as he closed his eyes and breathed, "Hi."

"I thought you were ignoring me." Matt brushed his lips across Peter's cheek, pausing where the skin seemed more tender. "What happened?"

Peter pulled back, gently fingering his cheek. "Oh. Got smacked in the face. --Actually, it's funny, my boss asked me what happened this morning, too. He thinks you're smacking me around." Peter snorted, and Matt could hear practically hear him grinning.

"Did he really say that?"

"Basically."

From there, they drifted into uncomfortable silence, before Matt moved away from the door, back to the couch. "You can sit, if you want." Even as Matt sank down onto the couch, he could hear Peter kicking off his shoes and crawling onto the arm on the other end of the couch.

...Okay. Awkward.

"So--"

"That hurt, by the way," Peter interrupted. "When we ... you know. That hurt. ...Physically."

"...Oh." Well, no. Matt had known that. Matt ... had slept with men before Peter. He knew how it went. He just hadn't thought about it at the time and didn't want to bring it up. "Sorry."

"S'okay."

"...It's not always like that," Matt added after a moment or two. "It's not supposed to be. We were just--"

"--in a rush."

"Exactly." Strange, that Peter could waltz in and kiss him like that--and then hide on the other side of the couch like they're avoiding each other. His heart was beating a little too fast, nervous now. Like he'd run out of ideas. Like that kiss _had_ been his idea.

The silence stretched again, though Matt would swear he heard Peter open his mouth more than once, just before shifting his weight on the couch's arm. And then, without a word, Peter sank down onto the couch cushion, wrapping his arms around his legs. Matt had yet to hear Peter sitting like a normal human being; he was always curled up or crouching on something, and was more likely to crawl up the wall when agitated. With nothing to talk about, Matt ended up focusing in on Peter's body movements, the slight shift of his jeans against the fabric of his shirt (cotton, from the smell of it), rubbing the spandex of the suit underneath his clothes. The way Peter reached up, sliding his fingers up his nose like he expected to push up a pair of glasses, continuing the movement when he realized he wasn't wearing them and running his fingers through his hair instead. He ran his tongue over the bottom of his front teeth when he was thinking, habitually pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I am so tired," Peter admitted. Like that explained his lack of inane, silence-filling chatter. It would kill him to admit he was too nervous to talk, though his heartbeat gave him away. Peter must have forgotten Matt could hear it.

Matt reached over, using his radar sense to hone in on Peter's exact location, listening to the beat of his own heart for the outline before brushing back Peter's hair. From the feel of it, he hadn't washed it in a day or so and still had chalk dust from his day at work in it. He nudged, just once, in his direction.

And was surprised when Peter actually leaned down and rested his head in Matt's lap, still holding his legs to his chest with one arm and laying the other across Matt's knees. Matt hesitated for a moment out of _shock_ before smoothing Peter's hair back, content to just idly run his fingers through it before reaching for the remote.

With the news on a low hum, Matt was content just to listen to Peter's heartbeat, trying again and again to ask him one small question: What are we?

He was close. Painfully close. Mouth open, breath taken in iclose, listening carefully to Peter's breathing when he realized Peter was ... sleeping.


	8. Couch Cuddles And Old Ladies

Peter only vaguely remembered the last time Matt had been in his apartment. And he'd never come back as Daredevil before. As Matt rarely left the Kitchen, it stood to reason that Peter tended to go to his place when they met up instead.

They still hadn't talked about what had happened. Two weeks later, and Peter kept avoiding the subject. While Matt seemed content to let it happen, Peter was struggling, trying to decide how comfortable he felt knowing he'd actually slept with Matt. Still stuck back there, he was having a hard time pulling himself into the present.

But they didn't run in to each other much, and tonight, Matt had tracked a murderer into Mahattan--and had run into Peter on the trail. They'd found him and turned him over to the police, but not before shooting Matt in the arm.

So Peter had dared to bring Matt home. He wouldn't make it all the way back to Clinton with that arm, and Queens was just over the bridge. He'd largely ignored his embarrassment at his dirty apartment, sitting up on the counter in the tiny kitchen to bandage Matt's arm.

"Thanks," Matt grunted, flexing his arm when Peter was finished.

"Sure. Didn't want you to lose your arm."

Peter watched Matt carefully, letting the foot that hung over the edge of the counter swing a little bit. The top half of his suit and his mask were on the other side of the sink, abandoned to give Peter a better look at the wound on Matt's arm. The scars that spread over Matt's body like badly placed tattoos looked oddly pale in the bad lighting of the kitchen--a reminder that Matt was really only human, no matter how supernatural he seemed when he fought.

For a second, his hand twitched up, like he wanted to reach out, move a stray red hair out of Matt's eye, catching himself and pushing back his own hair instead. Stop it, Peter.

"Should get going," Matt muttered, sliding his hand along the counter until his fingers found the dirty leather of the suit.

"Probably." Peter shifted, pushing himself off the counter and going for the door. The place was a _mess_, which was part of the reason Matt rarely came around. He tripped over things, ran into tables. It was not a great place for a blind guy.

But he paused, turning to see Matt separating his glove from cowl.

"You don't have to."

"Don't have to what?" Matt raised his head, and Peter would swear he looked a little hopeful. Matt rarely censored his facial expressions, if ever. He'd probably just forgotten how.

"Leave. You don't have to go if you don't want to. You can have my bed, I'll take the couch. It's late." He'd always wondered what it would be like if Matt stayed over at his place for a change, anyway. "I have extra sweats and a shirt, if you want something else to wear. You know, instead of chilling out in bondage leather all night."

Bondage leather? Good going, Peter. Bondage. Nice, great, now Matt thinks you're a _freak_.

But Matt chuckled, nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

Matt had taken Peter up on his offer. Not because he'd been too tired to go home, not because he liked Queens. Queens sounded completely different, and the new noises would make it hard to sleep.

No, Matt took Peter up on the offer because Peter had offered his bed. Not with Peter _in_ it (which would have been ideal), but it was still his bed. While Peter settled down on the couch out in the living room, Matt was wrapping Peter's covers around himself, ignoring the possibility of sleep in favor of breathing in the scent of the comforter. Wrapped in Peter's blankets, laying on his pillow, wearing his clothes--if he listened carefully to Peter's heartbeat, it was almost like being in bed with him.

He felt guilty, listening to Peter so closely, taking advantage of him just to be near his scent. Peter shifted often on the couch, restless, dozing off for minutes at a time before having to roll over again, sucking in his breath in a nearly inaudible gasp when he would wake back up. He'd thrown on a shirt, though Matt suspected he either tended to sleep in pants or his underwear, from the way he tugged on it uncomfortably when he moved. His heartbeat was slow--an athlete's heartbeat, steady and low and strong--and when he shifted onto his back, he curled his legs up, pushing his sock off one foot with the other and kicking it to the floor. Matt listened to all of it with his face pressed into Peter's covers, guilty that he was listening, guilty that he felt he had to, guilty that he would _want_ to.

They hadn't talked about what had happened between them, and it was driving Matt _insane_. There was _something_ about Peter that made him want to be around, and Peter seemed content to just avoid it after that one kiss that had knocked Matt off balance. He was a new obsession, a new distraction, and when he was drowning in Peter's scent, he didn't have room to think of anybody else.

After listening to Peter toss and turn for an hour and a half, Matt pushed himself to sit up. Hesitated before climbing out of bed, tugging idly at the borrowed pants--the only pair Peter had that was too long for him and would fit Matt. He was silent, slipping out into the hallway, stopping in his tracks when he heard Peter shift onto his back with an uncomfortable grunt. Like he was afraid to get caught, holding his breath until Peter settled again.

Padding his way to the couch, Matt crouched down--and for a moment, he just listened, listened to Peter's heartbeat, to his breathing. He slept with his mouth slightly open without snoring, the scent of mint toothpaste still on his breath. He knew the moment Peter fell in to his uneasy sleep, and to hear Peter so completely irelaxed drew him in.

Matt brushed his fingers over Peter's cheek, over a thin scar that Peter probably didn't even know existed. New skin, healing over from a cut Peter had probably dismissed, too thin and faded for Peter to see or feel himself. His fingers trailed down to his chin, feather light up to his mouth. Peter's lips were dry, healing over from a blow to the mouth that must have happened recently, an area of tough, new skin on the left side of his lips; he swallowed reflexively, pressing his lips together in his sleep, tongue sliding easily over his mouth before he shifted again, tightening his grip on his blanket.

Resting his fingers beside Peter's lips, Matt hesitated before leaning forward, gently tracing the path of his fingers with his mouth, barely kissing his cheek, his chin, pausing over Peter's mouth before gently kissing that, too. Just resting there, letting his fingers trail down and lay against the strong pulse at Peter's neck.

A second later, Peter's mouth opened in a small, newly-awakened gasp; Matt pulled back just enough to let Peter breathe, not having it in him to pull back entirely, inhaling the fading scent of mint. A strong hand gripped his arm reflexively, as if to push him back, and Matt reached over to take Peter's hand, rather than backing off.

"Matt...?"

"Mm." He kissed again, his lips against the thin scar on Peter's cheek. He felt Peter tense up without pushing him off--and then Peter's hand relaxed, letting Matt pull it off his arm, moving away from his cheek and kissing his wrist, running his mouth over the light imprint from the webshooters constantly pressing into his skin. Matt shuddered lightly when Peter touched his forehead, hands chilled from the air conditioning that had shut itself off half an hour ago.

And then Peter pulled his hand away, Matt following the motion with his mouth until he dropped his hand back down on his stomach.

"Matt--"

"I won't hurt you," Matt breathed, like he was asking for permission. Like it was one of Peter's silent concerns. Soft. Honest. He leaned in again for an experimental kiss to Peter's mouth, afraid that Peter would push him away again until he felt him kissing back, gentle and a little hesitant.

Peter's mouth was warm, warmer still compared to Peter's hand, cold against his cheek. The slight shock of the cold touch against his skin made Matt groan quietly, pressing in. Gently touching Peter's lips with his tongue and groaning again when the other man's mouth opened with a rush of warm breath.

Peter's hesitance was slowly drifting away, inciting another little moan when he caught Matt's tongue, gently sucking, languid and slow. Matt trailed his fingers up Peter's cheek, over his temple, thumb sliding up the bridge of his nose, eyes closing under Matt's hand with a short, soft moan.

Keeping the kiss, Matt shifted, slowly crawling up onto the couch over Peter, groaning into his mouth and gripping the couch cushion and resting on Peter's hips. He felt another little wave of guilt, imagining Peter's mouth on a certain _other_ part, kissing harder to keep from pulling back and articulating it. He shuddered when Peter shifted under him, cradling Matt's hips between his legs for comfort and resting his arms around Matt's waist.

It was easy, laying over him and slowly kissing, for Matt to imagine curling up in Peter's bed, gently pushing him down. Easy to think of Peter's mouth on his cock instead of his tongue, lazy and soft and _warm_, smelling Peter on the bed, listening to his heart beat and the quiet, wet sound of Peter's mouth moving over him. Easy to want to drown in his scent and his skin--in everything that was _Peter Parker_.

Peter dozed off long before he did, soothed to sleep by the gentle kisses and warm weight of Matt resting on him. Matt settled when he realized Peter had drifted off, settling down with his ear pressing to the left side of Peter's chest, and finally--_finally_--lulled to rest by the sound of his heartbeat.

* * *

The morning came too fast. Matt was up long before Peter, woken by the neighbor downstairs dropping a pan by accident. He'd shifted just slightly, careful not to wake Peter, pressing his other ear to Peter's heart instead.

He'd just drifted off again when he heard a key in the lock. Pushing himself up, Matt honed in on the new heartbeat, frowned; the heartbeat was definitely familiar, old, and came with the faint scent of lilac perfume and peppermint hand cream, but he couldn't quite _place it_. He was halfway through climbing off Peter without waking him up when the door _opened_; Matt twisted on reflex, not quite 'looking' in the woman's direction.

She stopped, heart skipping a beat.

"Oh."

It must have been Peter's aunt, and Matt immediately felt his face go red as he pushed himself to a stand, knowing how it must have looked to her, some strange man on top of her nephew. Or ... not so strange. They'd met before, briefly. He'd given her legal advice, had helped a friend of hers survive a trial with a decent lawyer. Still, it was hardly enough to lessen the sense of shock that he was _in_ Peter's apartment.

The silence stretched between them, May staring, no doubt, before turning to close the door one-handed. From the scent of detergent and clean clothes near her body, she'd come with a basket of laundry. And Peter, still fast asleep, tugged the blanket up and turned into the back of the couch.

Matt was the one to break the silence with a quiet, "Hi."

"Hello." May swallowed hard before moving to set the laundry down behind the arm chair. Matt tensed--and was surprised when May approached him.

Or seemed to. She walked right past Matt to crouch down by Peter, laying a hand over his forehead for a moment before pulling back. "Did you do this?" she asked quietly.

"Do what?" She probably thought Matt had _drugged_ him or something. Shit.

"Make him sleep like this." Matt could hear her brushing Peter's hair back and tucking the blanket more securely around him.

Matt shrugged. "I suppose."

"Peter doesn't sleep very well," she breathed, moving to pick up the sock Peter had dropped on the floor. Matt opened his mouth, and she must have seen it, because she added, quickly, "I have questions. Later. Tell him to call me when he gets up." Her voice was skeptical, a little disappointed, but ultimately very _warm_. It was easy to imagine Peter fawning over her, and Matt envied how easily she moved around him, tucking him in, picking up and dropping off his laundry like that.

"Yes, ma'am."

Gently touching his shoulder as she headed back to the door, Matt could swear he heard May smiling when she replied, "Good boy."


	9. I'm Not Gay

Peter slept better than normal, curled up against the back of the couch, propped up on a pillow. As a rule, he was restless, shifting all night in bed, but Matt's weight had kept him still and calm. He'd moved a bit when Matt had left, but that was about it.

So he slept in without meaning to, and when he finally _did_ wake up, it was in Matt's lap, laying back against his stomach and cradled between his knees.

"Mrgh--mm. Hi." It wasn't how he remembered falling asleep; Matt must have gotten up earlier.

"Hi." Matt ruffled his hair affectionately, contributing to Peter's already rather disastrous bedhead.

Peter groaned, burying his face against Matt's chest. "What time is it?"

"About eight or so? That was the last time they said on the news." The television was on a low hum, barely audible to someone like Peter.

"Seriously? Woah. I haven't slept that late in a while." Peter pushed himself up, stretching with a grunt and a yawn. Matt's hands dropped, sliding over his back.

"I know."

"What do you mean, you know?"

"Your aunt told me."

Peter dropped his arms, twisting around to look at Matt. "Wait, when?"

"This morning." Matt tried to give Peter an apologetic look. Sorry for not waking him up, maybe. Peter just stared. "She came around to drop off your laundry."

Crap. Crap. ..._Shit_.. "And she saw you?"

Matt frowned. "Yes, she saw me."

"Shit." Peter climbed off the couch, tugging his shirt straight and pulling off his remaining sock. It was getting annoying.

"What? What _shit_?" Matt reached over, grabbing Peter by the hem of his pants and tugging him back. "So she saw me. And now she knows. Big deal."

"What do you mean, _now_ she knows? iI don't even know, what the hell are you talking about?" Peter pushed away, grimacing. "What's there to know about? It's not like we're _sleeping_ together."

For just a moment, Matt looked _crestfallen_--before he smirked, anyway. "Actually, we did a lot of sleeping last night. _Together_."

"Oh, come on, you know what I _meant_." Smartass. "--Weren't you the one telling me not to be _queer_ earlier, what the hell was that?" Peter took another step back, confused. Defensive. Things kept happening and Peter still wasn't sure exactly how he felt about them. If he felt comfortable knowing he liked kissing Matt or liked being touched.

"What?"

"You know. When we were ... together--"

"When I fucked you."

Peter flinched. "Exactly. You acted like you wanted me out and then, what, you changed your mind halfway through the day?" He said it more aggressively than he had to, really.

Matt winced, pushing himself up to stand, obviously not comfortable with Peter standing over him. "I did it without thinking," he admitted. "Fucking you. I fucked you without thinking and--"

"Can we please stop saying it?"

"Saying _what_, Spidey?"

"Fuck. It's unnecessary."

If Matt could stare, he would be staring. Annoyed. "I. Fucked. You. Get over it. I wasn't thinking. I felt _guilty_ in the morning."

"Oh, well, _that_ just gives me warm fuzzies." Peter scowled, moving away to pick up the laundry hamper.

"Look, I..." Matt paused, making a face. "I shouldn't have done that to you. In the morning. I just ... felt ..."

"Uncomfortable," Peter finished for him. "Because you slept with a man." Peter felt like it was personal at the time. Still did, maybe. A little.

"Exactly."

"You think it might have made me uncomfortable, too?"

Matt winced again. Bullseye.

"Yeah. Thought not."

"You were the one trying to kiss me," Matt said petulantly. "You weren't _that_ uncomfortable."

"I wasn't thinking about it," Peter snapped. "It wasn't like I tried to fuck you. It's not the same thing." He huffed, sounding _exactly_ like his aunt and heading into his bedroom, plopping the basket down on the bed and putting his clothes away, just for something to keep his hands busy.

"I came back later!" Matt protested, following. "I came back and kissed you to make up for it. You can't still be mad."

"You got me in trouble at work!" Peter half tossed a pair of underwear into the top drawer.

"You still kissed me. After that. If you're so goddamn uncomfortable, why did you do that?"

"I..." Peter hesitated, deciding to find his clean socks extremely interesting. "I don't _know_. I just came over to hang out. It just happened, all right? I don't _know_."

Matt looked offended that Peter was so confused. They were both playing the push and pull, "I felt like it but didn't like it" game, and it was starting to get _old_.

"What about last night?"

"I was half asleep." After a pause, Peter admitted, muttering, "It felt good. I felt like it."

"Then--"

"It doesn't mean we're _together_," Peter snapped. "I'm not igay. I--we--I'm not gay. I was _married_. I _loved_ MJ, I was attracted to MJ. We had sex, and I liked it. I'm not gay."

Matt was silent, blinking, looking like he'd just figured something out. Realization spread over his face, and Peter could only scowl.

"_What_."

"You don't want to be gay. That's your issue. You're attracted to me and you don't want to be gay."

"I am not--" But Matt was right, and Peter's heartbeat was probably giving it away. "That's because I'm not gay," he finished lamely.

"But you want me," Matt said stubbornly. "You like me. You like touching me."

"I'm not gay."

"But you like it last night."

"I'm not _gay_."

"I could hear your heartbeat. You _liked it_, Peter Parker."

The use of his real name from _Matt_ made Peter flinch, moving stiffly to hang up his jeans. "Doesn't make me gay," Peter muttered. "Shouldn't you be all guilty over this? Aren't you Catholic? You're not gay, you had Karen and Elektra and God knows who else, you're not gay, either."

Matt frowned. "I'm not a very good Catholic. And just because I liked sleeping with Karen doesn't mean I don't want to sleep with _you_." Peter flinched; Matt must have known somehow, because he added, "Yes, Peter. I want _you_. I _want_ you. And I want you to stop pretending nothing happened, god damn it, you're being such a pussy about it."

"Shut _up_!" Peter snapped, turning on him. "I'm not--damn it, Matt. I'm not gay. I just--I had a moment, I'm _lonely_, maybe it's not you at all. Maybe I'm just lonely."

"Plenty of people are _lonely_ without getting fucked up the ass, Peter!" Matt grabbed his arm with an accuracy that no blind man should be allowed to have, dragging him closer before Peter jerked his arm out of Matt's grip. "Tell me you don't want me. Go ahead. I'll know if you mean it."

Peter opened his mouth, started to say it ... and couldn't. Matt would know. Matt would know everything.

"...I thought so. Would you just ... stop being such a pain in the ass and let me want you?" He reached out again, sliding his hands up Peter's arms and shoulders, resting on his neck.

It wasn't fair. Up close, Peter couldn't help but notice the light scars on Matt's collar, one on his jaw. The slight marks his sunglasses left on his nose. That his hands were rough but warm--or that, staring at Matt's mouth, he really wanted to kiss him. He pressed his lips together, silent and staring despite himself, glad Matt couldn't see. He didn't want this. He didn't _want_ to want Matt. He wasn't gay, but... but. Well. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with being gay, it just wasn't Peter. He liked women. He liked Felicia and MJ and Betty, had liked Gwen. He wasn't _gay_.

But god _damn_ was Matt attractive, and just thinking about Matt's hands and mouth made him second guess it all.

The silence must have lasted too long, because Matt broke it again. "Liking women and wanting me are two different things, Peter. They don't have to replace each other."

"For someone who goes to church every Sunday, you're awfully open to this," Peter commented. Maybe a bit unfairly.

Matt frowned. "Would you leave that out of this? I've made my peace with that. And if God sends me to Hell, it won't be over _this_. You let me worry about that."

Another shield gone. Another excuse, and Peter shifted. Still staring, watching Matt's lips move and swallowing hard. He still didn't have anything _important_ to say and just leaned up. He'd been staring at Matt's mouth too long, kissing it without realizing what he was doing. When he idid realize it, he tried to pull back, only to have Matt take his face in his hands and hold him there.

He didn't pull away.

Peter didn't let himself think. He just _kissed_, hard, tugging on Matt's borrowed shirt and opening his mouth when Matt pushed with his tongue. Sucking briefly, almost like a reflex, Peter slides his hands up to cradle Matt's neck, tangling in his hair and tugging his head back before dropping down to kiss his throat, resting his mouth where Matt's neck met his shoulder.

Matt took his hand, squeezing briefly before pulling it down, pressing it between his legs. Peter nearly pulled back, ultimately letting his hand rest there, curling his fingers gently; Matt was getting hard under his hand, and Peter ... had to grin. There was a sort of sick thrill in being able to turn another man on like that.

Matt kissed his neck, trailing up to kiss his ear. He swallowed, hesitating for a moment before:

"All I could think about last night was your mouth ... here," Matt breathed, holding Peter's hand just a little bit higher and squeezing--pulling in a breath like a gasp that almost existed.

Peter hesitated before pulling his hand away, suddenly uncomfortable with the implication. Matt's face fell, and he reached back out for Peter's hand, missing.

"Peter--"

"I should call my aunt." He didn't wait for a response before leaving the room to pick up the phone, dialing and leaning against the kitchen counter while the phone rang.

Suddenly, Matt was next to him, sliding a hand in his hair, the other around his waist from the back while Matt whispered, mouth close to his ear, "One of these days you'll get comfortable admitting you want me."

And then he was gone (into the bathroom, if the sound of the bathroom door closing was any indication), leaving Peter speechless and a little light-headed, holding the phone up and staring out the window.

_"Hello? ...Peter? Peter, is that you?"_

Peter shook his head, running a hand over his face. "Yeah. Yeah, Aunt May, it's me. How's it going?"

_"It's just fine, Peter. How are you?"_

"I'm okay. I, ah. I heard you ran into Matt this morning."

_"I did."_ She sounded wry. I-know-your-secret-Peter. _"You'll have to invite him over for dinner sometime."_

Peter hesitated, about to tell her no, that wasn't going to happen--until he just smiled. "That would be great. I think he'd like that. ...I'd like that."


	10. A Little Warning Next Time, Please

Matt had taken to waiting for Peter, when he had time, to get out of work. Inviting him over. Just to hang out, to do their work together. He was spending more and more time with Peter, wearing him down. Getting him _comfortable_ with the idea of being with Matt.

Peter knew it. Peter was fully aware and just ... let it happen. He'd decided he liked having Matt around when he graded papers, liked having someone there to joke with when kids came up with ridiculous answers, or listening to Matt describe some of his _weirder_ clients. Not that Matt would ever call them weird. He seemed to honestly _love_ his work--and Peter had to admire that, too.

And sometimes, they'd forget about work altogether, ordered dinner, and put on a movie, when the news didn't turn up some big _problem_ that needed their immediate attention. Other times, they'd put on a movie, Matt would rapidly lose interest, push down Peter's slacks and crawl between his legs.

Like ... tonight, for example.

Still idly listening to the movie, laid back against the arm of the couch, Peter had his eyes closed. With Matt, there was never any pressure to maintain eye contact, and he felt _comfortable_. And relaxed. Matt was stretched out easily on the rest off the couch, lazily moving his mouth along the length of Peter's cock, affectionate as a hand in his hair or a back rub. He seemed to genuinely _like_ going down on Peter, and Peter wasn't going to complain about this one.

He gently sifted his fingers through Matt's hair, careful not to let his skin snag. Touched his forehead, ran a finger down his cheek. Matt was slow, kissing up the side, sometimes taking Peter into his mouth for a few long, languid moment before going back to brushing his lips over Peter's skin.

They were silent, up until Matt said, "I've never heard your heartbeat this calm before." Pressing a long, sucking kiss to the underside of Peter's cock, he added, "When you were awake, I mean."

"Feels good," Peter muttered, taking in a deep breath and affectionately scratching the back of Matt's neck.

"I know. I can hear it." Matt grinned, nuzzling gently before running his tongue over the head. "Stay with me tonight."

"Hm?"

"Stay here." Another lick. "With me. Tonight." Another kiss, short and affectionate. "You can borrow my pajamas ... use my shower ..." He was taking advantage of Peter's relaxation, gently easing down his slacks.

Peter shifted. "I should probably head home."

Matt sighed, pressing his face to Peter's stomach so he could igroan. "Why not?"

"Because."

"It's _Friday_."

"I have work."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing _what_?"

"That thing you do where you let me touch you, you get a hard-on, and then you wonder if you're gay."

"I am not."

"I'm a human lie detector."

"...Fair enough." Peter pushed Matt off, standing and tugging his pants back up.

Matt made a disgruntled noise, reluctantly pulling himself to stand. "God damn it, Peter. Make up your mind."

Peter flinched, looking back, surprised at the sudden _hostility_. "What?"

"Stop being such a pussy about this. You keep coming back, so ibe here."

"Excuse me?"

Matt grabbed the front of Peter's shirt, tugging him in to make his point. "Stay or go. You leave, you don't come back, because you're staring to piss me off."

Peter pulled back, pushing Matt away a few steps. "The hell did that come from? Jesus Christ, Matt." A moment ago, he'd been so _calm_, and now he looked like he was going to _slug_ Peter or something. Mood swings much? But Matt had a point, and Peter hesitated before forcing himself to make a _decision_, eventually saying, a little reluctantly, "I'll stay. Damn, dude, chill out."

That was when Matt _grabbed_ him, kissing him so hard Peter's mouth _ached_, shoving his hand into Peter's slacks and massaging roughly. He bit at Peter's neck, using his other hand to tear at his shirt. Peter grunted, tugging off his tie and pulling his shirt off, deciding he _was_ attracted to Matt. And apparently willing to fuck him, throwing aside the top half of the spider suit and pressing into Matt's hand. Matt _groaned_ into Peter's neck, moving his hand away only to let Peter tear off his own shirt, nearly ripping his undershirt before deft hands dropped to Matt's belt.

And then, Matt pulled back, shoving Peter away when he tried to follow. He was breathing hard, and it was obvious he was _hard_, leaving Peter to wonder why the hell he'd been pushed away.

"What--"

"I need a shower." Like he hadn't just been all over Peter, Matt stalked off to the bathroom, shedding the rest of his clothes on the way. Peter watched him leave, dazed and dumbfounded. What the...?

Peter just stood there at first, catching his breath, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. He could hear the shower running, the sound of the curtain closing while he idly picked his clothes up off the floor, feeling appropriately ridiculous. Matt must have thought he was insane or ... or bipolar or something, flip flopping like that. But he'd said he would stay, and he'd meant it.

But what the hell was with that, feeling him up and ditching him like that? The hell, Matt? Just for that, he was going to sit right here and finish the movie. All night. ...Without his shirt on. And his pants half off.

...Yeah.

Peter made a face before kicking off his pants, wrapping it around his other clothes in a ball and tugging off the bottom half of his suit. He really shouldn't wear it all the time, he decided. He'd get a rash one of these days. Spandex rash from the webbing on the suit. Nasty stuff.

Maybe it was a boring movie. Maybe he was looking too closely at the hero's ass. Maybe it was because he was curled up on the couch in his underwear with a hard on that wouldn't igo away, but Peter didn't last very long before getting up and heading for the bathroom. To use the toilet, of course.

He knocked on the door frame. "Hey."

"Hey _what_?"

Peter flinched. "I need to pee."

"So use the toilet, it's right there. I won't look." It was said utterly without humor, and Peter felt bad for laughing.

Instead, he just did his business, trying to ignore the sounds of Matt in the shower, grunting lightly when he hit a fading bruise or a healing wound. Peter wasn't really paying attention to anything else, painfully aware that he was naked a few feet away from a naked, wet Matt Murdock. Peter heard him sigh, thinking of Matt's mouth and hands and _shoulders_ and--

"Are you coming in here or not?" Now Matt sounded a little amused.

Peter shook his head, making a face. "What?"

"I can hear your heartbeat, Peter."

Peter swallowed hard, weighing his options for about half a second before kicking his underwear aside and stepping into the shower.

Matt turned to face him, reaching over and pulling Peter under the spray, grinning, before leaning in to kiss him, firm and affectionate. Peter vaguely remembered something Matt had told him about rain, how it made it seem like he could _see_ again and had to imagine that the shower was the same. He had to pull back to breathe, appreciating the idea of being under the spray for Matt (and for himself, the water was _warm_) but finding it hard to inhale with water going up his nose--resulting in breathy, open-mouthed kisses.

The affection from earlier was still there, and Matt seemed content to kiss him, cradling the back of Peter's neck with large, rough hands. With nothing to cling to, Peter ran his hands up Matt's sides, over his scars and healing scrapes and bruises.

Kissing Matt's shoulder, Peter rested his forehead there, just pressing against him for a moment while Matt brought up a hand to slide into Peter's hair. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "For being such a pain about this. I just don't--"

"Shh. It's all right." Matt kissed his ear, nuzzling gently. "I understand."

Peter swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut and hugging Matt tightly. "I miss my wife," he breathed, burying his face in Matt's neck. "It's hard to accept all this when she's still _out_ there, and I keep hoping she'll come home. --I know MJ, I know she won't, and..." Peter felt stupid and vulnerable, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying on Matt. That would be worse. His stomach turned in what Peter could only think of as _homesickness_, liking the way Matt felt up against him but wishing it were Mary Jane instead.

Matt was silent, gently kissing Peter's cheek and hair. Letting him be upset for a few long, quiet minutes before admitting, "I need you, Peter. I ... I miss Karen."

Peter pressed his mouth to Matt's neck in a still kiss, digesting what Matt had said. And ... _understanding_ why Matt devoted so much of his time to getting close to Peter.

They needed each other. Matt responded to being alone by clinging; Peter isolated himself and only got more lonely. At least Matt had something else to think about.

It wasn't exactly what Peter had imagined stepping into that shower. He'd expected to be pressed up against the wall by now, expected Matt to be kissing him, reaching between his legs. But now, Matt was just holding him, covering his head like he could protect Peter from ... something. From whatever was out there. They stayed there until Matt kissed his forehead and pulled away, smoothing back his hair.

"Take a shower," he murmured. "I need to go do something."

"Hm? What?" Peter didn't want him to pull back, moving forward a little as Matt backed away, stopped when Matt held his face in his hands--and Peter would _swear_ Matt was _looking_ at him.

"I'll be right out there. Take your time." With that, Matt stepped out of the shower, reaching for his towel. Peter listened to him go, turning up the heat on the shower when the footsteps faded and taking his time, making liberal use of Matt's soap and shampoo until he felt _clean_.

Turning off the water when he was done, Peter groped around for a spare towel, half drying his hair before securing it around his waist and wandering back out to the living room.

"You know, if we're going to make a habit of this, we should probably start using condoms... --Oh." Peter stopped when he realized Matt wasn't ... the only one in the living room. Oops.

It was a man Peter had seen before, at least once, but couldn't quite _recognize_. Shorter than Matt and on the heavyset side, the look he gave Peter could only be described as confused and slightly horrified. At first they just stared at each other, until Matt cleared his throat.

"Um. Foggy, this is Peter." Matt looked embarrassed--or maybe smug. Hard to tell. "This is my..."

"Boyfriend," Peter added, feeling his face turn a little red at the admission.

"...Oh." Foggy eyed him critically, looking him up and down (and clearly not appreciating his state of undress). "Could've used a little warning."

Peter made a face. "That makes two of us. I'm going to go ... put on some pants. Don't let me bother you while you ... lawyer. You're a lawyer, right? You're not going to sue me for indecent exposure, are you?"

Foggy laughed. "If I did, I'd have to sue every girl I've ever caught Matt sleeping with." Peter winced at the word 'caught'. Like it was a bad thing. The laughter died and Foggy cleared his throat. "Please. Go. Pants."

Peter nodded, stepping further into the living room, painfully aware of Foggy's eyes on him as he reached over to grab his clothes before retreating to Matt's bedroom.

That could have gone iso much better. At least when Aunt May caught Matt, he was _clothed_.


	11. Overheard

Foggy stayed later than any of them had anticipated. Peter didn't want to leave--he'd already said he would stay--but it was awkward, listening to lawyer-speak all night, sitting in the kitchen and correcting papers. He eventually decided to just head to bed, coming back out into the living room.

"I'm gonna turn in." He leaned on the back of the couch, squeezing Matt's shoulder.

Foggy was the first one to look up, nodding. "Night."

"'Night, Pete." Just as Peter was about to pull back, Matt reached up, catching him by the chin and leaning up to kiss him firmly on the mouth. Feeling a little self conscious in front of Foggy, Peter touched Matt's cheek, kissing his forehead when he pulled back and nodding in Foggy's direction before leaving them to do their ... lawyer thing.

It wasn't the first time he'd stayed in Matt's bed. He was actually on his way to getting comfortable with it, claiming the right side of the bed as his own, wearing pajamas he'd borrowed from Matt. Intent on at least dozing off before Matt came in--and he was, until he heard his name out in the living room fifteen minutes later.

"--with Peter. Are you sure it's a good idea, Matt?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Peter shifted, but didn't get up. Instead, he just ... listened. Foggy sounded sympathetic, even worried, but skeptic. And Matt? Matt sounded sure of himself. Of course he did.

"What does he do?"

"Teaches. High school kids. You know, chemistry, physics, all those courses I was bad at."

"And that's it?"

"And he dotes on his aunt. He's a good guy, Foggy."

"He's a iguy." It was hard to tell if Foggy was more surprised or ... or disgusted? Was that disgust? Probably just disbelief. "It's not like you have men around, Matt. It looks a little strange."

"College, Fog."

"Everyone messed around in college, but you never had a _boyfriend_. He said boyfriend. Is he?"

"Yeah. I like him."

"And you met him ... _how_?"

"A while ago at a coffee shop. Don't worry about it."

Foggy paused. Peter could practically _hear_ the look he must have given Matt.

"...He's not dangerous, Foggy. He's _nice_."

"That's what scares me, Matt," Foggy said with a bit of an aggravated noise. "He's from--where? Queens? ... He's a little white boy from Queens. He teaches _kids_. And he's _nice_. You don't exactly live a happy life, Matt. No offense."

"None taken."

"He won't understand. --Have you told him? About ... you know what?"

"He knows about Daredevil." Matt sounded just a tad agitated now. Let it go, Foggy. Peter shifted uncomfortably, feeling bad for not letting Matt tell Foggy who he was, but not bad enough to go out there and remedy it. "He's okay with it."

"But he hasn't been attacked yet. Karen was okay with it, too, until--"

"_Don't_. Do not bring Karen into this, Foggy. Karen and Peter aren't the same person."

"It's still a valid _point_, Matt--!"

"Keep your voice down," Matt snapped. "You'll wake him up."

Foggy lowered his voice, hissing something Peter couldn't hear. From there, all he could make out was muttering; he shifted, turning on his other side and cuddling up to a pillow.

Eventually, he dozed off, closing his eyes and falling into a dream about a dark courtroom and lawyers in red suits...

* * *

Peter stirred when Matt came to bed a couple hours later, waking up when Matt crawled in behind him and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Shifting, Peter squished the pillow against his head before looking up, squinting.

"Hi."

"Hey," Matt breathed, leaning down for another kiss, missing Peter's mouth and kissing his nose instead. "I like this."

"What are you talking about?" Peter drawled, nudging Matt's chin with his forehead.

"You in my bed."

"I always thought having someone else would keep you up."

"Mm. Sometimes." Another kiss, this one to Peter's forehead, resting an arm around Peter's waist. "I like having your heartbeat here."

Peter smiled to himself, reaching for Matt's hand, squeezing. Hesitating for a moment before bringing it to his mouth, kissing Matt's fingers. Matt nuzzled him in response and kissed his neck.

"Could you ... do me favor?" Matt murmured against his neck.

Peter blinked, pressing his mouth to Matt's palm. "Hm?"

"Sleep on your back?" Matt pulled back a little. Peter almost never saw Matt so ... nervous? Were those nerves? Maybe. Maybe a little embarrassment, it was hard to tell in the dark.

But Peter shifted, resting on his back and watching Matt settle down, his head on Peter's chest, right over his heart. A faint smile tugged at Peter's mouth. With Matt cuddled up to him, it was easiest to just keep an arm around him and press his nose to Matt's hair--red, but more orange than MJ's had been. Matt didn't strike Peter as the type of person to want to icuddle in bed, or who needed other people to anchor himself. He'd always seemed like such a loner. How ironic.


	12. The Blowjob Chapter

Peter spent more and more nights with Matt these days. Actually _sleeping_ over. Sometimes they messed around, and Peter was getting so used to frequent blowjobs--which was a distraction at work when he was bored. And not a good one, either; thinking about Matt's mouth was definitely _not_ an appropriate fantasy while sitting in on a bunch of bored kids taking a test.

It had been a long night as Spider-Man. Kind of depressing. It was one thing to bust up a gang, and another entirely to arrive on the scene just a minute too late and walk into a massacre in progress. Women. Kids. Everyone. Days like these made Peter lose a little bit of faith in humanity; he felt dirty, calling the police with blood on his suit. Normally, after something like this, Peter would go home and hug his wife, take a shower, try to wash the ugliness off of him.

Instead, he swung over to Matt's, hoping he was in. It was late, even for them; he should have been. Probably asleep, though, but he came to the window when Peter knocked. He'd probably heard Peter coming from a mile away.

"Pete? What the hell? ...Something wrong?"

"Can I use your shower?" He didn't have to explain. Matt knew from the tone of his voice. They all had nights like this, gory and ugly, and Matt could smell the blood on his costume.

"Yeah. I'll get you something to wear. You hungry?"

"After that? No." He pulled off his mask, and Matt reached out to take it before he could find somewhere to set it down. "Thanks," Peter muttered, making his way toward the shower.

The water was so hot it nearly _burned_, and Peter welcomed it. All the screaming, people crying, begging not to be shot... He shuddered, rubbing his face underneath the spray, scrubbing his body and never seeming to get that gross feeling off of his skin.

Matt actually surprised him when he stepped in behind Peter, taking the soap out of Peter's hand and running it over his back.

"How bad?" Matt asked softly.

"Real bad." Peter echoed his tone, dropping his arms to his sides and letting Matt wash his back. "Men. Women. Kids. ...Gang war."

"Nasty stuff." Matt nudged him forward to rinse his back, too, setting aside the soap to come up and hug Peter from behind, kissing his neck. He didn't say he was sorry, or that he knew what it was like. He didn't have to.

They stood together for a long moment, Peter pressing his mouth to Matt's forearm and closing his eyes. Matt was solid and warm against his back, comforting. Loving, just by being there, and Peter ... well, Peter wasn't sure if he _loved_ Matt, but he felt a surge of something like it. Nudging Matt, Peter turned for a soft, affectionate kiss to Matt's mouth. Matt's hands slipped when he touched Peter, body slick from the water, and he _groaned_ when Peter let his fingers snag as they slid down his chest.

Peter touched Matt, sometimes, when he had his gloves on, which worked fine. He'd never actually held Matt's cock with his bare hand; with his skin the way it was and Matt's sensitivity, he could really _hurt_. But he didn't have a problem touching every _other_ part of Matt's body. The kissing and touching slid easily from comforting to sexual, Matt's hands sliding down over Peter's ass and squeezing before moving on, moving around front to grasp Peter's cock instead.

And then, Peter did something unexpected. He pushed Matt's hand away--and for a second, Matt thought he was being rejected (something that hadn't happened in _weeks_). "Peter--?"

"Don't worry." Peter gave him another firm kiss, nipping at his jaw. "Take care of me later. I..." He paused, swallowing hard. A little nervous, but sure of himself nonetheless. "I want to suck you first."

Matt's expression hid nothing; that happy shock was all over his face, like he'd been waiting for Peter to say that for _forever_ and never expected it to happen. "Oh. Okay. Sure."

"I figure you've done it so many times for me I've ... picked up a few ... things." He felt silly saying that out loud and kissed Matt again for another little surge of confidence, surprised when Matt grasped the back of his neck and held him there, kissing his ear.

The kiss was wet and warm from the hot shower water, and Peter would swear he could feel Matt grinning against his skin when he whispered, "I have dreams about you sucking my cock, Peter."

Peter sucked in a breath, swallowing nervously. "No pressure," he muttered, and Matt chuckled, kissing his ear and letting him go.

"Don't worry." Matt ruffled his hair, keeping his hand on Peter's head when Peter kneeled, hands on Matt's hips. "I'll talk you through it."

It was more than obvious that Matt was _hard_ when his cock was at eye level, and it was little intimidating. (Though from here, it was pretty obvious the red carpet matched the drapes, so to speak.) Matt reached down, grasping his own cock and steadying it, still affectionately brushing back Peter's hair and nudging him forward, touching his cock to Peter's mouth. There was something strangely innocent in that little gesture, and Peter's mouth fell open before he pressed a hesitant kiss to the head. He could only imagine how this must have looked to Matt; the water was falling directly over Peter, and the outline of him kneeling at Matt's feet, mouth pressed to his cock, must have been perfectly _clear_.

"Start with your tongue," Matt suggested gently, gasping quietly when Peter gently ran his tongue over the head of Matt's cock, pressing lightly against the slit. "And up the side--there you go." He let go, letting Peter run his tongue up the side of his cock, grabbing the bar anchored to the shower wall instead. "You can just ... do that for a while, get comfortable--ngh." He made a small, surprised noise when Peter pressed a kiss to his skin, sucking on the skin there. Matt did that to _him_ a lot; Peter must have been paying attention.

It was slow going, Peter taking his time. Getting comfortable with having Matt's cock so close to his mouth. It was a foreign feeling, but he was working his way through it with Matt's quiet instructions. And he learned things--like the fact that Matt liked Peter to kiss the head of his cock, or that he didn't like Peter touching his balls at _all_. That Peter could get Matt to make a _very_ specific sound if he sucked on the underside for a couple seconds, that his right hand twitched almost imperceptibly every once in a while, if Peter manage to hit a good spot.

When he felt confident enough, Peter pulled back, just enough to gently kiss the head before leaning in again, letting Matt's cock slide into his mouth, almost painstakingly slowly. Matt _groaned_, shuddered, gripped the bar against the wall and shifted just a little bit, spreading his feet for balance.

"_Fuck_, Peter," Matt breathed, grip tightening in Peter's hair, making Peter grunt around his cock and inciting another moan. "That's--all right."

Peter was officially in the dark, and his first attempt at actually _sucking_ was met with a noise of protest from Matt--who actually held him right where he was.

"Too much," he explained. "You're a little too hard, I think your teeth--try it softer." When Peter obeyed, Matt loosened his grip a little, sighing with a small shudder. "There, you--_mm_. Good, like that. Here, move a bit--good boy--"

It was slow and soft, just like everything else, and Matt's instructions trailed off into little ambiguous noises instead, letting himself relax and enjoy Peter's mouth moving over his cock. Peter was doing it to _do it_, rather than working energetically to make Matt come. And there was a strange sort of relaxation in having Matt in his mouth--Freud would have called it oral fixation, he supposed. Freud aside, Peter found he actually liked the way it _felt_; Matt was hot and heavy on his tongue, and he let his eyes drift shut, enjoying _himself_ as much as Matt enjoyed what he was doing.

When Matt _did_ orgasm, it took Peter completely by surprise, like he'd forgotten that, well, sucking Matt's _cock_ might result in Matt _coming_--and Peter promptly _choked_ on it, pulling back and coughing, spitting onto the shower floor, panting at the shock and the fact that he was _choking_, for Christ's sake. Surprised when Matt wasn't concerned that Peter was hacking up his ejaculation, Peter glanced up and saw that Matt had buried his face in the crook of his elbow, leaning against the wall and shaking.

Right. Orgasms messed Matt up, didn't they? Still coughing (God, he must have _swallowed_ some the wrong way and it _hurt_), Peter wrapped his arms around Matt's hips, resting his head on Matt's stomach, meaning to lend him some support. Like an apology for making him shake like that.

"Sorry," he breathed, kissing Matt's stomach and accidentally kind of coughing on it. "Sorry. I forgot you--sorry."

"Don't be," Matt said shakily, leaning on Peter for support when he lowered himself to the floor of the shower, Peter letting go to allow him to and leaning forward to gently kiss him on the cheek apologetically. "Don't." Matt reached out to touch his face and missed by nearly a foot, senses totally thrown off.

Peter caught Matt by the wrist, nudging him to lay back against the smooth end of the bathtub and pressing Matt's palm to his chest, over his heart like it was habit. Normally, he would have curled _around_ Matt and let Matt rest against his chest, but there was no room for that in the tub. Surprisingly, Peter was _quiet_; he'd tried to talk to Matt during the post-orgasm moments once and gotten a good 'shut up' smack for it. ...Or would've, if Matt had been able to aim.

Waiting out the necessary silence with light kisses to Matt's chest, Peter paused when Matt brushed back his hair and leaning forward to kiss the top of his head.

"Okay," Matt muttered. "I'm good. _You_ were good--for a rookie." He smirked, and Peter made a face.

"Thanks, I guess."

"Even if you choked."

"...Oh, shut up."

"What? Everybody chokes at least once." But that smug look and the teasing way Matt said it made Peter frown and gently bite his shoulder.

"Wouldn't have choked if you'd _warned_ me." Well, all right, maybe, maybe not, but that was then and this is the time where Peter projects.

"Mmhm. I'll keep that in mind next time." Matt ruffled Peter's hair, nuzzling him affectionately. "One of these days I'll teach you to swallow like a man."

Peter scrunched up his nose. "No offense, Matty, but that's not exactly the best taste."

Matt snorted. "Scratch that. I'll teach you to deep throat it first."

"What? Why?"

"Because you can't _taste_ it back there," Matt said matter-of-factly, like he was explaining that his Daredevil suit was made of leather or that the shower water was hot.

"Seriously?" Peter didn't seem to buy it, looking up at Matt--mostly out of habit, he knew Matt wasn't going to make eye contact with him.

"Seriously. Why do you think I put up with swallowing _yours_? --Wouldn't kill you to eat more pineapple or something, by the way, that all-Chinese-and-hot-dog diet makes you taste strange."

"...I'll keep that in mind."


	13. Awkward Stuff

It had all been Aunt May's idea.

May was strangely okay with Peter bringing home a blind lawyer who was supposedly a violent masked vigilante. (The press was right, of course, but Peter _swore_ it was all just rumors.) She was enthusiastic, she called ahead to see if Matt was around when she came over so she knew to bring more cookies or pie or whatever she'd made that day. She scolded Matt when he called her Mrs. Parker and insisted she call him May.

And now, she wanted to meet Matt's family. But since Matt didn't really _have_ any family (his mom didn't count; she didn't even use her old name anymore. oh, and she lived in a convent and the last time Matt had seen her had nothing to do with Matt himself. She wasn't invited), he brought Foggy Nelson instead.

Foggy. Who thought Peter was sensitive and delicate and incapable of handling the big things in life. ...Kind of like May, actually, except May had that mother's bias thing going for her. Foggy was just totally clueless.

Peter hadn't really helped with _dinner_, but he was setting the table when Matt and Foggy knocked on the door. Almost dropping his plate, he went to the door, reaching out for a hug from Matt--and getting a good, solid kiss to the mouth instead. In front of Foggy and Aunt May, no less, making Peter pull back and try not to blush while Matt grinned.

Foggy cleared his throat, patting Peter on the shoulder. "Hey, Pete."

"Hey, Fog."

"Hello, Matthew. --And _you_ must be Foggy Nelson." Aunt May slipped easily into the warm, welcoming hostess (slipped into? May was _perpetually_ that way, who was he kidding), holding her hand out to Foggy, who took it like he was happy to see someone _normal_.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh," Peter piped in, busy taking off Matt's coat when he looked over. "Foggy, this is my Aunt May. Aunt May, this is Foggy Nelson." Holy redundancy, Batman.

"Call me May. Peter, why don't you take Matt and Foggy into the living room? Dinner will be a bit." With that, Aunt May retreated back into the kitchen, leaving Peter to show Foggy the living room. Matt just wouldn't appreciate the aesthetics the way Foggy would (though he did use the guise of keeping his hand on Peter's back for guidance as an opportunity to discretely squeeze his ass).

"Nice house your aunt's got here," Foggy commented--without looking at Peter. Or maybe he was avoiding looking at Matt. It was hard to tell with Matt so close to Peter.

"It is. I grew up here. It--"

"Excuse me, boys, I need to steal one of you." May came to stand in the doorway, looking expectantly at Peter--but when Peter moved toward her, she shook her head. "I need Matthew's help in the kitchen."

Peter frowned. "But Matt's--"

"I know."

"Ohhhhkay." Peter glanced at Matt, who shrugged before heading for the kitchen, disappearing with Aunt May. They left Peter and Foggy in a rather uncomfortable silence, neither wanting to look at the other.

Eventually, Peter cleared his throat, moving toward the couch. "You can sit. Just so you know."

"Yeah, thanks." Foggy lowered himself down into the arm chair, and the silence stretched before: "Peter. Matt told me you know about his ... hobbies."

Peter, who had been looking around the room, snapped around to meet Foggy's eyes before looking down. "Yeah, I do."

"And you're ... _okay_ with that?"

Peter nodded.

"Have you been--I mean, has anyone _hurt_ you yet?"

"You mean because of Matt?" Peter looked up again and shook his head. "No."

Foggy shifted uncomfortably. "Someone will. You know that, don't you?"

Foggy didn't know, Foggy didn't know, Foggy didn't know. Peter repeated it in his head like a chant or a mantra, carefully watching what he said, running it over and over in his mind before speaking out loud. "It's a risk I've decided to accept."

Foggy hesitated, and then: "Do you love him?"

_That_ caught Peter by surprise. Maybe it shouldn't have. Peter looked down into his hands, chewing on his lower lip. It was nearly a full two minutes before he finally replied, "No. --I don't know. Maybe. I might." He looked up, looking Foggy in the eye and hesitating a little before adding, "I'm getting there, I think. It's hard to tell from here."

Peter's honesty caught Foggy off guard, making him look away. The air between them was tense and awkward, uncomfortable with no real respite, and Peter wondered what Foggy would say if he knew the _real_ truth.

* * *

"So, Matthew."

Matt couldn't remember the last time those two words were so unnerving, especially with the sound of the kitchen door closing. Aunt May had been nothing but kind and warm to him, and now there was something a little colder about her. Not .. _bad_ cold, but hardened, maybe. Protective.

"Yes, May?" Matt tipped his head toward her to make it clear he was listening.

"Do I have a reason to be worried for Peter?"

Yes, May, you do. Your precious nephew is a masked vigilante who dresses like a ispider and fucks Daredevil when no one's looking. But Matt couldn't say that, so he had to lie. Sort of. "Why?"

"I can't ignore what I read in the papers, Matthew." She sounded like she didn't _wan_t to believe it, but there was no getting around this. She moved around the kitchen, stirring something that smelled _phenomenal_ before covering it with a lid again. "Now. You're blind, I know that. But people believe the papers, whether they're right or not." May obviously didn't believe Matt was _actually_ Daredevil.

"It's just a rumor, May," Matt assured her, lying easily. "I can't pretend that Peter's _completely_ safe, but nobody is. The press gets nasty, but if anything happens to him, we can always file a lawsuit." Hah. See? ...Lawyer joke.

May didn't laugh. "I may be an old lady," she said. "And I may be overprotective. But if you put him in danger, I will find a way to make you wish you'd never touched him. I can promise you that." The sudden chill in the room made Matt _flinch_.

With that, May sighed, turning off the stove and turning back to him, the warmth back in her voice when she said, "Now, would you mind calling Foggy and Peter back in? Dinner's almost ready."

* * *

Three awkward, almost painstaking hours later, Peter and Matt were headed back to Peter's apartment. They'd both put off some work to go to dinner, but Peter hadn't been ready to let Matt go for the night, so they'd ended up on Peter's couch, Matt going through some legal papers while Peter rested against him, sifting through his finances.

"_Shit_," he muttered, staring at his papers like they'd offended him.

Matt shifted a bit. "Hm?"

"You know how I said I was looking to sell this place and move sometime next year?"

"Yep."

"I think I'll have to move it up. Without MJ I can't pay for spider repairs _and_ the rent here long enough." Dropping money on medical, suit repairs, webshooters, and his spider tracers was getting _expensive_--not to mention the work he missed last month after taking a nasty beating or two. Peter groaned, resting his head on Matt's shoulder for a moment.

Matt was silent at first, turning to idly kiss the top of Peter's head. "You--hm."

"What? I what?"

"You could move in with me."

Peter looked up, staring at Matt for a moment--and actually considering it. "I ... ngh. I don't know." It was a big step. "You think we're ready for that?"

Matt shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it. "We could split rent and it would give both of us more money to spend on our, you know ... hobbies. If need be." He was a little uneasy, probably nervous about the idea of sharing his space. Matt was pretty solitary, but he seemed to tolerate Peter's presence pretty _well_.

Peter leaned up, kissing Matt gently on the cheek. "Thanks, Matt. I'll think about it."

"Mm." The suggestion had left Matt vulnerable, and he turned, kissing Peter softly on the mouth once--and then he paused before leaning in for a longer one, lingering.

Peter lightly kissed the side of Matt's mouth before pulling back, kissing his shoulder before going back to his finances. Living with Matt, sharing a space with someone again. It was an odd thought from here. But maybe ... maybe it could work.

He really would have to think about it.


	14. Know Too Much

"PARKER!"

J. Jonah Jameson was furious. But ... well, J. Jonah Jameson was _always_ furious. Furious and smelling strongly of cigar smoke while he blew it in everyone's faces. He had _The Globe_ clenched in one fist, banging it on the desk while he yelled.

"SOMEBODY GET ME PARKER!"

"He's on his way up, Jonah." Betty Brant, good a sport as ever, barely seemed bothered by Jonah's temper. Actually, _no one_ seemed bothered by Jonah's temper anymore. "Remember what your wife said about your blood pressure."

"FORGET MY WIFE! WHERE IS PARKER!?"

"Right here, Mr. Jameson." Peter had _run_ in after leaving the elevator after Betty had told him Jonah was screaming for him. Again. He hadn't even given Jonah his photos yet, what the hell! "Hi, hi, I'm here."

"There something you want to tell me, Parker?"

It wasn't a friendly question. Actually, come to think of it, no one who ever said 'do you want to tell me something' did so out of curiosity--and when _Jonah_ decided to, it couldn't have been good. Peter gaped, unsure of exactly how to answer that.

Okay. All right. Run down the list of what you've done today, Pete. Got up, went to work, didn't throw anything at the kids, didn't blow anything up, made it through Biology, managed to avoid the principal, picked up the mail (bills, bills, more bills, some spam mail), missed the train to Queens because he'd stopped on the way home to be Spider-Man and stop a car chase (and was now wearing a band aid on his hand where a bit of broken glass had caught him), ended up skipping the train rather than waiting for the next one, walked home, took a shower, corrected some papers, called Matt, went _over_ to Matt's, did a bunch of stuff Jonah wouldn't know about, and then ... come to the _Bugle_.

"Um ... no?"

Jonah huffed (was Jonah's face always that color? It seemed more purple than usual today), as if torn between screaming and ... actually trying to be calm.

"Nothing _new_ I should know?" he growled. "Nothing you should _come out_ with?"

Peter shifted uneasily, shoving his hands in his pockets and shoving down the mask, like it would jump out in he didn't keep it firmly at the bottom of his pocket with his fist--before wrapping his fingers around it like a security blanket. He swallowed hard.

"Like what, Mr. Jameson?"

Like Jonah was waiting for the right answer. Peter didn't quite know what he _wanted_; Jonah always just shouted opinions at people rather than _asking_ for something. There were only two big things Peter hid from Jonah and--

Oh. Oh, _God_ no. Which brought up the question: which was worse? Jonah finding out Peter was Spider-Man, or Jonah knowing he was suddenly _gay_ now? He told himself that the first was worse, why in the hell would Jonah _care_ if he was igay?

Because you're gay with Matt Murdock, Peter, that's why. _Duh_. That evened the keel a little bit, don't you think? Of course.

Peter must have been staring at Jonah for an exceptionally long time--not just because Jonah looked like he was about to _pop_, but because other people were starting to come to the window to stare at Jonah glaring at Peter Parker, who seemed like he was decided between pissing himself or _dying_ right there. Even Robbie had stopped what he was doing, hovering by the door like he was on stand by in case Jonah threw something at Peter's head. But Peter couldn't find it in himself to _speak_.

"WELL, Parker? Spit it out!"

"I threw a dark sock in my whites last night," he blurted. Well. It was better than 'I'm Spider-Man' or 'Yes, I'm sleeping with Matt Murdock, Mr. Jameson!'

"You--what? Why would I care about that?! I'm talking about THIS!" Jonah spat, throwing _The Globe_ down onto his desk. Peter warily made his way over, peering onto Jonah's desk and trying to swallow the lump in his throat. On the cover of _The Globe_ was Matt Murdock--which was normal, except for the fact that it was a photo of him leaning across a table at a cafe, kissing another man on the mouth. A man who looked _exactly_ like Peter Parker. The headline read _DAREDEVIL: Gay?_.

"...Oh."

"Oh? OH?! IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?!"

"Uhm..." Peter shrugged helplessly, torn between relief that it was this and not Spider-Man and that sick, sinking feeling that had made its home in his stomach. "That's not what it looks like."

"Look, Parker, I don't _give_ a damn if you've run off to join the fucking fairy farm, you hear me?! Don't Ask, Don't Tell far as I'm concerned, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW." If Peter didn't know better, he'd swear Jonah's face just turned a darker shade of purple. "But if you plan on playing happy couple with DAREDEVIL--"

"He's not Daredevil."

"ExCUSE me?"

"He's not Daredevil. ...Sir," he tacked on the end, shifting again and wondering if bolting was a viable option or not. "It's a misunderstanding. I mean, he's _blind_, there's no way he can ... you know. Be. Daredevil." Peter swallowed hard and resisted the urge to slowly back away and hide behind Robbie. "I think we were over this already. You know, with Ben Urich and that whole--"

"I KNOW what Ben Urich told me, Parker! Fact is that Murdock fruit gets HEADLINES! Headlines with MY photographer sucking face with him!" Peter _flinched_, looking away before-- "You LOOK AT ME while I'm yelling at you, you hear me?!"

Peter immediately looked back, eyes lowering a second later and landing on the cover of _The Globe_. He remembered that; they'd been having dinner at the cafe yesterday, talking about the possibility of Peter moving in with Matt. He'd been planning on calling Matt after giving his photos to Jonah today to tell him it was a go, he wanted to do it. Peter had bought some kind of danish that had just come out of the oven and offered to let Matt try it--which had prompted Matt to lean over and kiss him instead. That must have been when whoever-it-was got the shot through the window. Jackass. It made Peter sick to his stomach just to imagine being spied on, let alone having it broadcast in the tabloids.

He ended up tuning Jonah out (a learned skill, to be sure) while he stared, laying out a possible future. At best, he'd be known throughout the tabloid readers as Matt Murdock's boyfriend--if any of them bothered to remember his face long enough. At _worse_, someone would see them together as Spider-Man and Daredevil and connect the dots. No more rooftop make out sessions. They were way too risky now.

"--but when you're flouncing around with Matt flipping Murdock, I EXPECT TO KNOW!"

That snapped Peter back into actually paying attention, just to _stare_. "What?"

"I WANT TO KNOW when one of MY people is in cahoots with DAREDEVIL--"

"But he's not--"

"I EXPECT YOU TO GODDAMN TELL ME, PARKER!" For a second, Peter was sure he felt the ground shake a bit. "We lost a big headline to the GLOBE over this!"

Peter sighed, aggravated, looking away for a second, opening his mouth to respond and giving up, grabbing his bag instead. "I have pictures of _Spider-Man_...?"

"What are you waiting for, Parker, an INVITATION?! Hand 'em over!" he spat, holding out his hand like Peter's pictures should've been in it already. Fishing the new photos out of his bag, Peter handed them over, just to watch Jonah practically throw them one by one onto his desk. "Crap. Crap. Crap. I'll give you 600." He didn't even wait for a reaction before scribbling on a piece of paper and shoving it at Peter. "You want to see another paycheck, you get me some photos of Spider-Man canoodling with the Human Torch! We've got a man down the street who's a flying FLAMER joke; if we can get shots of the Sub-Mariner making faces at Mr. Fantastic, we can get the Torch playing leapfrog with the webhead! Now GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Peter retreated all-too-gladly, hearing Jonah mutter as he left, "Never thought Parker would turn out to be a goddamn _queer_."

"Hey!" Peter turned back around before Robbie put a hand on his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

"Let it go, Pete." That said, Robbie went back to what he was doing, leaving Peter to hand Betty the receipt Jonah had shoved in his hands.

"Can you believe that? Thanks, Betty."

"He's just a little hurt," Betty admitted while Peter tucked the check in his wallet. "That you didn't tell him. He really likes you, Peter."

Peter snorted. "Sure he does. That explains why he hates me."

Betty laughed, pulling some papers over a magazine on her desk--_The Globe_. Peter pretended not to notice. "He's hurt you didn't tell him you were dating a guy, let alone one who's _allegedly_ Daredevil." It was hard to tell if she did or didn't believe Matt was Daredevil.. "I'm actually surprised you didn't tell _me_ you were dating him, Pete."

Peter shrugged, suddenly a little uneasy. Embarrassed that he hadn't told anyone but Aunt May; Betty was a close friend, she'd understand. "It's quiet. I mean, until now, obviously."

"Is it serious?" She leaned forward, with all the affectionate interest of a best friend or sister waiting for the latest gossip to fawn over.

"Yeah. ... I'm actually moving in with him." Screw Jonah. He wasn't going to let J. Jonah Jameson and the tabloids scare him out of moving in with Matt. It was that, go broke, or move back in with Aunt May--and Peter was iway to old to be moving back in with his mommy.

"Oh, _really_?" Betty grinned, still holding back that giggle. "You take care of yourself, Pete."

"What? Why?" Why was everyone always trying to protect him from Matt? What the hell.

"Well, you know." Like it should be obvious. "Just because you know he's not Daredevil, doesn't mean other people do, too. Just ... you know. Be careful."

"Yeah," Peter said, a little irritated, tucking his wallet back in his pocket. "I will. I'll be fine, Betty, I promise."

"Good boy." And then, her grin widened. "_Now_ I get to tell my-ex-boyfriend-is-gay stories. Thanks, Pete."

Peter _laughed_. "You're welcome."

* * *

Matt had taken the news pretty well. He'd actually looked _excited_, but Peter didn't get a good look at him. He was too busy being pulled in for a crushing kiss and spun around. Like a _woman_. Peter had never realized how strong Matt really was until then. He'd brushed the gesture off, claiming he needed to retain _some_ of his masculinity.

Foggy had volunteered to help Peter move in, and Matt had asked Luke and Jessica. Peter didn't have a whole lot of stuff, but his couch and chairs were a lot nicer, so they were doing a big furniture swap, too. Foggy and Jessica were nice enough, but Luke had taken every available opportunity to poke fun at Matt for the new headline. Matt had eventually told him to let it go, he could only go on for so long about _one_ gay headline, and Luke laughed.

"Just the first time you got caught, right, Murdock?"

"I'm sure that's what Jessica said when she caught you knocking little yellow booties with Iron Fist, right, Luke?" Peter had replied, hidden from the look Luke must have given him by the couch they were carrying up the stairs. It didn't really shut Luke up, but it made Matt laugh.

Oddly enough, it was Matt who first flopped down on the couch when everyone had gone home one night, pressing his face to the pillow. Peter laughed, and Matt told him to shut up, the pillows smelled good.

"They probably just smell like _me_," Peter countered.

Matt sat up, and if he could have stared at Peter, he would have. "That's the point."

It was all surprisingly easy. Even dealing with his landlord and working out the nuts and bolts was easy. It was the only easy thing in his life at the time; Spider-Man was never easy, Jonah was throwing a _fit_ over the _Globe_ headline (and everything else), work was really starting to get on him about appropriate behavior and the bad press he was bringing the school just by being in it (on top of being absent all the time). Matt got the usual trouble, though now the reporters asked him questions about Peter, too.

Eventually, Peter was settled in. Adjusting to Hell's Kitchen was ... interesting. It had a personality--a violent, hard personality. Peter heard screams the first night, but Matt had calmed him down, assuring him the woman screaming would be fine, he would know. People were more likely to be dragged into an alley and beaten to death here. It was a neighborhood that needed a hero, and Peter couldn't help but wonder if Matt couldn't use a little help.

Maybe Peter was a big _nerd_, but he couldn't help but think of Batman once he'd gotten to know the place better. With the whole ... Gotham City has her own personality thing. Violent masked avenger. But Matt was no Batman. Matt was, well ... Matt.

Weird things happened in the Kitchen sometimes, though. Peter tended to walk most of the way home, partially so he could turn into Spider-Man if something happened on the street, and one night his spider sense went off for no real _reason_. Without knowing what he was _dodging_, Peter darted to the side, pulling off a one-handed somersault without thinking.

"What the...?" He twisted, trying to find what the hell he'd been running from--and there was nothing. Not a rock, no falling debris. No kids nearby tossing things; it was dark, most people in the Kitchen were inside. A quick scan of the buildings showed that there was no sniper trying to pick him off. He hadn't heard a gunshot. His spider senses lingered for a moment, and Peter was about to go and check out the building anyway when he heard the sound of a woman _scream_ right across the street.

He largely butted out of Daredevil business, unless Matt asked him, but there were some things he could never overlook--like the _mugging_ that was happening right across the street, a man beating a woman into a wall. Dropping his bags without hesitation, Peter darted over. "Hey!"

The mugger looked up, blue eyes wide and feral, slamming the woman into the wall before snatching her purse and taking off. Peter immediately went to grab the woman, putting his body between her and the runaway mugger so he could discretely toss a spider-tracer onto the man's jacket before turning back to her.

"Stay with me." She'd taken a nasty hit to the back of her head, and Peter was already fumbling in his pocket for his phone to call an ambulance. "Come on, lady, stay awake for me, please. Talk to me." Her long blond hair stuck to her forehead, stained pink by the blood.

"He has my ... my, ah, my..." She couldn't seem to find the word, resting her head on Peter's shoulder.

"I know. I know, I'll get it back," Peter promised. "Just stay with me. Keep talking to me. You have any kids?"

It was all habit. Move the woman as little as possible, cradle her against his chest, keep her talking, call the ambulance, wait until they showed up, gently pass her off to the EMTs, get the name of the hospital. Peter stayed there until she was safely inside the vehicle, watching them drive away.

Peter turned into the ally, retreating into the darkness so he could shed his clothes and pull on his mask. That mugger had taken the woman's bag, and he wasn't about to let the goon get away with whatever she kept in her purse. He knew where she would be. Matt would just have to wait for him tonight.

* * *

Jared Michaelson was born and bred in Hell's Kitchen, raised by a gang-member father and his nasty finance-controlling housewife, instilled with an entitlement complex and a habit of overdoing the beatings. He was strapped for a little cash, so he'd dragged a woman into an alley to beat the ever loving shit out of her (because he wanted to) and took her purse (because he needed it). Some asshole had interrupted him and made him book it, but it didn't matter. He still had the purse. The woman wasn't probably wasn't iloaded, but the cash and cards in her wallet was enough. He'd just have to mug someone else. No big deal.

Thing is, in Hell's Kitchen, people overlooked muggings--that had been Jared's experience, anyway, and as he rounded the corner, fleeing from his latest one, he scolded himself for not going after that guy, too. Skinny little bastard. Jared could've taken him. But, hell, he just wanted the money and someone to beat on. The way that guy had rushed in, he would've put up a fight. He just didn't want to deal with that shit tonight.

_Running_ back to his apartment in case that freak decided to call the police, Jared locked the door behind himself and plopped down at the kitchen table to count the cash, dumping the purse on the floor after he'd fished out the wallet, sifting through ones and fives while he waited for his parents to come home. Twenty-three and still living with mommy and daddy, what would his classmates say? He wasn't sure, he'd dropped out of school in tenth grade.

When he heard the door open and close, he shouted, "Hey, Ma, when's dinner?"

"Do I look like your mama, son?" The voice was male, low and rough and ultimately amused.

"What?" Jared twisted in his chair, dropping the cash in his hand and standing up when it was a man he'd never met--but certainly recognized. Blue coat, bald head. A _brand_ on his forehead, three rings that made up a bullseye. Everyone in the Kitchen knew who Bullseye was. "Oh, _shit_. I didn't do anything, I don't mess with the Kingpin's men, I swear!"

"Ain't here for revenge, kiddo." Bullseye grinned in a way that made Jared's stomach turn; he stepped forward and Jared stepped back, nearly tripped on the chair. "Ain't gonna hurt you, either. You have something I _want_."

"Want? Take anything you want, just don't hurt me, don't--!" Bullseye darted forward faster than Jared could dodge, grabbing him by the arm and reaching behind him, pulling something off of his back, holding it in front of Jared's face. It was tiny, made of metal, painted red. In the shape of a spider. "The fuck is that?"

"This is a spider tracer, sugar. And you know what that means?" Again with the grin, again with the stomach turning.

"Wh-What?"

"Means old webhead is going to be at your doorstep any minute now, bucky." Bullseye tapped Jared's forehead. "Probably for that purse you stole."

"Spider-Man? I don't ... I--" The smell of urine filled the room, and Bullseye made a face, tossing Jared to the ground. He hit the floor hard, curling up and covering his head.

"The guy back there was _Spider-Man_." Bullseye spoke slowly--like he was talking to some mentally retarded kid. It seemed like Bullseye would turn around and leave when he rolled his eyes and turned away, picking up the purse on his way out. "And he should be here any second, shouldn't he," he muttered to himself. Jared listened while Bullseye's footsteps retreated, pushing himself to stand when he thought Bullseye was _gone_.

He was wrong. A second later, a quarter flew at him and burrowed into his skull. Jared hit the ground again, and this time, he didn't get back up.

* * *

Peter followed the spider tracer's signal, heading for an area where it idled. An apartment building. Just as he was getting there, the signal moved again--but just to be safe, he swung down to where it had been coming from.

Hanging outside the window of the apartment where the signal had idled was the purse he'd been looking for, a note attached to the leather.

_Spider-Man,_

_I know who you are._

Peter _shuddered_, dropping the purse on the fire escape. First Jonah, now _this_? This was _not_ Peter's week. Peter clung to the fire escape, closing his eyes and reminding himself it would do no good to _panic_. Panicking was bad, panicking led to rash decisions, it--

Oh, screw it. Peter needed to panic! This was time for mind reeling, heart racing, smelly, sweaty _panic_! And whoever had left the note had _definitely_ taken the spider tracer. Rubbing his eyes, Peter took in a long, deep breath.

Okay. Okay. Check out the apartment first. Make sure no one was hurt. Whoever had left the note had left the window open, and Peter crawled in, carefully padding through the place until he went to the only room with a light on: the kitchen.

"...Oh, God."

The mugger. He wasn't mugging anybody _now_, was he? Inching over, Peter crouched down a foot or two away, squinting. Whatever that thing was buried in his skull, it was covered in blood; Peter leaned closer and realized it was a _quarter_. Whoever had killed him was no rookie, obviously had _perfect_ aim. Took pride in his work, if he was using quarters instead of bullets or knives. And there was only one name that came up automatically.

Bullseye.

"Damn it," Peter breathed, pushing himself to stand and hastily backing away from the body. He fumbled for a phone, sighing in relief when he heard a dial tone and calling the police. As soon as they were on their way, Peter was out the window, the purse entirely forgotten.

* * *

Peter had mostly calmed down by the time he got home--and by "calmed down", it was more like "forced himself to breathe like a normal human being, as opposed to hyperventilating". Still, the moment he got into the apartment, Matt turned toward the window, sniffing.

"Hey, you. What happened?"

"It's fine." Peter brushed off Matt's attempt at a hug, tugging off his mask and already stripping out of the suit. "Don't worry about it."

"Worry about _what_, Pete?" Matt frowned, stubbornly sliding his arms around Peter's waist just as he was about to push down the bottom half.

"I've got it handled. You know how you have your stuff and I have my stuff? This is my stuff. I just need to..." Sleep on it. Sleep, he couldn't think straight right now. Sleep, curl up next to Matt, if Bullseye made a move tonight, Matt would _know_. "Deal with it myself. All right?"

Matt blinked, but ultimately decided to let it go and respect Peter's privacy. He told Peter to butt out constantly; now it was his turn, and Matt could accept that--while sliding his hand underneath Peter's suit. "All right. I'll let you handle it." Matt kissed his ear, biting gently when Peter let himself relax, just a bit. "You're so _tense_."

"Mm." Which was slang for 'If only you knew'. But he was going to handle this himself. Even if it was Bullseye. Bullseye clearly had a beef with Peter this time around--and even if he didn't, Peter could handle him. No reason to worry Matt. Not yet. --That, and he didn't have the heart to make Matt stop, that hand against him felt _good_. "I know."

Matt grinned, moving his hand underneath Peter's suit. "I can fix that."


	15. River in Egypt

Peter was unbearably tense after the night before. Twitchy. He got up to go to work before Matt and barely remembered to say good bye. He swung to work instead of taking the subway, scenarios of Bullseye breaking into the apartment while Peter was gone and attacking Matt running over and over through his head. In all his scenarios, Matt won---but maybe that was just wishful thinking, and it didn't make him feel any better. He'd debated even going into work in the first place, and eventually decided to go, landing a block away to change into normal clothes and walk the rest of the way.

He felt unusually separate from everyone there---from the other teachers, the kids that were starting to come in. Peter tended to feel set apart as a rule (secret identities and alter egos would do that to a person), but today it was just ... uncomfortable. _I know who you are._ He knew. Would Bullseye come to the school and confirm his fears, or leave him alone so he could panic and worry himself to death? Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just one note and that's it, it's all on you, Peter, panic and hide or keep living, it's your decision.

Peter fumbled with the keys to his classroom, going straight there rather than stopping by the teacher's lounge. His first class was second period, but he needed this time to set up, make sure he had everything. Lab day for the chemistry kids. The classroom was untouched, exactly the way he'd left it the day before---and what else did he expect?

"You're paranoid, Peter," he muttered to himself. "Can't leave. You need to be here or they'll fire you. If anything happens, you can protect them, right? Right. No one has to know."

He nearly jumped and stuck to the ceiling when the classroom phone rang. Scolding himself, he picked it up, half expecting it to be Bullseye on the other line and sighing in relief when it was the principal.

"Hello?"

_"Oh, good, you're here. Pete, I need to talk to you about---"_

"The cover of _The Globe_ from last Friday?"

_"Well ... yes. Parents of your students have been calling me all weekend about it. I don't have to tell you what they're saying, Peter."_

"No," Peter said quietly. "You don't. I know." He cradled the phone against his shoulder to move over to the desk and start unpacking his bag, scanning the room out of habit. Just in case. Just look, nothing's there, calm down. You can go after Bullseye after work, but you need this job.

_"What am I going to do about you, Pete? You're a good teacher but you're a danger magnet, you're unreliable. If we weren't hurting so badly for science teachers, I just ... I don't know, Pete. I don't."_

"Yeah, I know..." Peter half listened; he'd heard all this before, could probably quote it back at him. Letting his eyes wander, Peter paused at the window. The principal had started speaking again, and Peter gave an obligatory, "Uh huh" once and a while, largely ignoring him to walk over to the window.

There was a sticky note attached to the outside, pressed against the glass. Written on it, in the same handwriting from the note the night before:

_Hello, Mr. Parker_

Peter gasped, dropping the phone without thinking, sliding the window open and reaching around to tear the note off, crumpling it like that would do any good. From the floor, Peter could still hear the principal's voice.

_"Pete? Peter? Peter, what happened, are you all right? ...Talk to me. Did you drop the phone? Did you---"_

Snatching the phone back up, Peter forced himself to breathe normally, tossing the note into the waste basket. "Yeah, I'm here. Cell phone, sorry about that," he lied easily.

The voice on the other line huffed, and Peter went back to his desk, taking out more papers while the principal said, _"We have to find a way to deal with this, Peter. Soon. I'll do what I can, but if I can't get you out of this one, you have to give me a hand, here."_

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

_"Good luck today."_ It was like a goodbye, in that the principal hung up after that, and Peter set the phone back down, going to open a drawer, only to flinch away.

Another note, same handwriting. Sitting at the bottom of his drawer and mocking him with its casual words. _How's Matty?_ Peter snatched the note, surprised when it was heavier than the last one; when he turned it over, there was a quarter tapes to the back.

Peter dropped it, went right for his cell phone to call Matt. He'd be at the office by now. The secretary picked it up.

_"Offices of Nelson&Murdock, this is Becky Blake, how may I help you?"_

"Becky? It's Peter, is Matt there? It's kind of important."

_"Sure, just gimme a sec."_ The line quieted for a long, painful minute before it was picked up again---this time with Matt's deep voice on the other end.

_"Peter?"_

Thank _God_. "Are you okay?"

Matt paused. _"Why wouldn't I be? ...Peter, your heart's racing, what's wrong?"_

Peter shook his head, even if Matt couldn't see it. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong, I was in a rush this morning. Wanted to hear your voice."

_"This have anything to do with what happened last night?"_

"...Maybe," Peter admitted. "I've got it, don't worry. You don't need to worry about it. Have a good day at work."

_"You, too, Pete,"_ Matt said slowly. _"I'll see you tonight? I have something I need to take care of before I go home, so---"_

"So do I. I might see you out there." Maybe. It was probably best to avoid Matt, wasn't it?

_"All right."_ Matt paused, like he wanted to say something and amended it to. _"I'll see you, then."_

"Matt, you _never_ see me."

* * *

It was the Monday to end all Mondays.

Copies of _The Globe_ had been passed around from kid to kid, posted on the internet---and even, in one case, photocopied a few times and stuck to the walls. It was an embarrassing ordeal, and Peter suspected the principal hadn't chewed him out because he knew today would be torture, anyway. There were no more mysterious and foreboding notes, but Peter spent the day _praying_ something would blow up so he'd have an excuse to run away from _this_. He just wanted to crawl under a rock. He had _hoped_ that someone else would have distracted the students by now, but for once, they actually remembered something from the Friday before.

It wasn't just the kids, either. The other teachers ribbed him constantly, if they weren't ignoring him. Some wouldn't even _look_ at him anymore. The whole thing made Peter's stomach turn, and there was only one word to define his reactions: deny. Deny deny deny. Not that he was gay, not that he was with Matt Murdock, but that Matt was Daredevil. Deny deny deny until they got fed up with the lack of answers.

That might take a while.

He tried to take the subway and decided better of it after the fifth person stopped and stared at him. He didn't need that. At least Matt couldn't see them stare. One person actually walked right up to him and started asking questions: Are you really gay? What's he like? Is he really Daredevil? Peter ignored him and kept walking.

The walk home was long and exactly what he needed. Peter needed to _think_. He could go after Wilson, demand to know why Bullseye was bothering him all of a sudden. But there was the chance that Bullseye was messing with him for _personal_ reasons; he had a personal, nasty grudge against Matt and enjoyed screwing with his lovers. But then how would Bullseye know Peter was Spider-Man? Maybe he'd already known. Maybe he saw the headline and guessed. The timing was awfully convenient, and he'd gotten the note after going after a mugger he'd tagged in his civs. And he'd taken the spider tracer. Unless...

Peter kept walking, mulling it over before it dawned on him. It was still during the day, people were on the streets, and when he found the alley across the street where he'd stopped the mugger, he slipped between the buildings and hung his bag on a fire escape before crouching down. Trying to find something that didn't belong dropped in an alley.

It took a couple minutes of searching before he finally found what he was looking for. There, buried in the cracking pavement, was a _quarter_, the top part sticking out. That quarter had obviously been thrown, and judging from the pavement around it, had been thrown from above, possibly from across the street, like a _bullet_. Something like that could've gone right through a person's body, but there was no blood on it. Peter reached down, tugging it out of the pavement with some effort.

So that was it. Bullseye had gone after _Peter Parker_ first; he'd dodged the quarter last night and gotten distracted by the mugging. Bullseye must have been furious that he'd missed, but opted to go after the _mugger_ when he'd seen Peter throwing the spider tracer, gotten to the mugger before Peter did and left a note where he knew he'd be headed. Didn't take a genius to connect the dots after getting his hands on that spider tracer.

"Bullseye," Peter muttered to himself, tucking the quarter in his pocket. "He went looking for Parker and found Spider-Man. I am so _screwed_. Can't go after the Kingpin; if Bullseye isn't working for him, it'll be like handing him my head on a plate." Bullseye had gone after Matt without orders from anyone, too. So many years of butting heads with Matt and losing? It wouldn't be too far out to think that he was going after Peter to continue a tradition, here.

So why play with him like that? That question was easy. Spider-Man was _not_ Daredevil. Some loud noises and a stick wouldn't take him down. Peter was faster than Bullseye, could dodge what he threw. He'd need something new. Some kind of ... ace in the hole to get his hands on Peter. But---

Peter twitched when he felt his spider senses _hum_. Like something was on the very _edge_ of his range. Standing, he tried to hone in, but the hum was so light he couldn't pinpoint a specific direction.

"Where _are_ you?" he breathed, backing further into the alleyway, out of sight of the street so he could undress, stuffing his clothes in his bag and pulling on his mask. That hum was still there, present but not overtly threatening. It didn't change when he climbed up a building, and even as he moved, he couldn't find any specific source. No surge to indicate a direction. ---As a matter of fact, it was when he stood still that it surged up, just a hair, and then stayed there. Like an obnoxious buzz, a slight headache that didn't hurt but wouldn't go away, either.

Eventually, the hum faded entirely, leaving Peter feeling exposed. A noise like that turned up high could cloud his spider senses and ... well. Peter had fought without them before. It never ended well. Shaking his head, he decided to swing the rest of the way home.

A few steps closer to the edge of the building and that _hum_ was back again. Where it was coming from, this direction seemed to be it. Peter moved again, cautiously, swinging easily to the next building. Still there. It was slow going, but he didn't want to risk passing it, trailing the noise. It was definitely _moving_; he was almost left behind once and had to speed up to get the feeling back.

"With my luck this'll be a trap," he muttered. "I'll walk right into something horribly dangerous and get cracked over the head."

So absorbed in trying to chase that weird hum, Peter didn't even notice when someone caught him by the arm and tugged him back. His spider senses were quiet, except for the hum, but it was still a _shock_.

"Hey---!"

"Jesus, Peter, it's just me."

Peter looked over. Matt, decked out in full Daredevil gear. Of course. When he looked over, the hum faded off. Damn it. "Oh. Yeah. Hey."

"What the hell are you doing?" Peter knew Matt well enough to know that he was raising an eyebrow under his mask.

"The hell are _you_ doing?" Peter pulled his arm out of Matt's hand, suddenly very aware that they were very close. In their suits. In public. In _broad daylight_. All anyone had to do was look up. He backed away, uneasy with the idea of being seen with Matt in costume.

"Waiting." Matt frowned. "What's---"

"Can't talk. I have a thing," Peter said quickly, vaulting off the side of the building before Matt could react.

* * *

The next couple weeks were nerve-wracking. Still keeping relatively silent about his peripheral run-ins with Bullseye, Peter was uncomfortably distant. The occasional team ups with Daredevil reduced to _never_, Peter too paranoid to be seen with Matt as Spider-Man; he played the avoiding game, went in different directions. And when Peter wandered home at one in the morning and Matt showed up at two, they weren't really in the mood for talking. If they weren't fighting crime, they were working, or _doing_ work, for their relative paid jobs.

This must've been what it felt like to be married.

And there was no sign of Bullseye. No more notes. Nothing. Every once in a while that hum would be back, a little tiny bit stronger every time, and every time, Peter would follow it with no results. He actually followed the feeling for a good three hours once before giving up. It was annoying, but not _dangerous_ so far, and he always got distracted by a more immediate crisis. But he couldn't shake that paranoid feeling that being together was worse than being apart when it came to Matt.

The papers didn't help. Tabloid photographers followed Matt around as usual, but now? Now, it was a challenge to see who could catch him in the most compromising position with his new _boyfriend_.

But there were nights, like tonight, where they found an hour or two to themselves, between work and the _other_ jobs that found Matt lounging on the couch and Peter making dinner instead of ordering or defrosting it. He wasn't the greatest cook, but he could manage _some_ things; he'd make Matt cook, but Matt was worse than he was.

He was in the middle of sawing his way through a loaf of garlic bread (hey. it wasn't frozen, it didn't count.) when Matt abandoned the couch to actually come into the kitchen. Easing up behind Peter, he slid his arms around Peter's waist, kissed his neck.

"Hey," he murmured, kissing Peter's shoulder, slipping a hand up underneath his shirt.

Peter stiffened, rolling his shoulders. "You mind? I'm busy."

Matt frowned, biting Peter's neck in retaliation. "Dinner can wait fifteen minutes." He said it more like a question that a statement. "Come on. Take a break."

"I'm hungry."

Matt _groaned_, letting his hand drop. "Pete. Come on, you have to throw me a bone at some point."

Peter paused, twisted to look around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." Matt shook his head and pulled away, frowning. "I didn't offer to let you move in so you could take some twisted vow of chastity."

"_What_?" Peter turned around, giving Matt a look he wouldn't appreciate. "The hell are you talking about?"

"You won't get near me in public, I'm the fucking _plague_ when we're in costume, and now you're too occupied to turn around while we're at _home_? What the fuck, Pete? What did I do?" Matt shifted his weight, upset and frustrated.

"Nothing. You didn't do anything," Peter replied lamely, guilt making his stomach turn. "You don't have to get all pissy because I'm not constantly in the mood, Matt, Jesus."

"Not...for fuck's sake, Peter." Matt threw his hands up, making an aggravated noise. "Not constantly? Try _never_. You are _never_ in the mood."

"That's not true! We..." Peter paused, trying to remember the last time and ... kind of failing. The last time they'd messed around had been _weeks_ ago. "...Oh."

"No shit. I don't _do_ celibate," Matt said bluntly. "You can't keep pushing me away; you're driving me _insane_, and not in the teasing, sexual kind of way." Peter flinched. "I shouldn't have to feel guilty for coming onto you."

"Well, _no_." Pushing himself away from the counter, Peter closed the gap between them, reaching over and grabbing the hem of Matt's shirt. "Sorry." The approach was out of guilt, sure enough.

And Matt must have known it. Roughly pulling Peter close by the front of his shirt, he bit Peter's ear, breathing, "I need you. I can't be near with you without listening to your heartbeat like it's the only sound in the room..." His hands uncurled from Peter's shirt to run down his chest, over his sides. "Without wanting to _touch_ you." One hand moved over his hip, pushing down underneath his pants to rest over the spider suit, between Peter's legs, earning a quiet gasp. "You're out there in that suit---like a second _skin_---and everyone's getting a good look at that ass except _me_. If you weren't avoiding me, I would never be able to stay away from you."

Matt let Peter touch him, let him slide his hands up his chest and cradle his neck, shuddering a little under his touch and seeming to lose his composure, just for an instant. He rested his forehead against Peter's, adding, "I just want to push you against a wall and make you come in my mouth." He leaned in, just barely brushing his lips over Peter's.

Before pulling away entirely. Peter made a noise of protest, leaning forward when Matt pulled away and making a grab for Matt's hand when he pulled it back. "Hey---"

"But you're not interested," Matt said, matter-of-fact, raising his hands in a mock surrender. "When's dinner ready?"

Peter frowned, suddenly embarrassed of the erection he was glad Matt couldn't _see_. "You jackass."

"Now you now how it feels," Matt said with a sick combination of regret and satisfaction. "Call me when you're done."

"Bite me."

"I will when you're done being an asshole."

"Now you're just being annoying."

Matt just laughed.


	16. Resolutions and Revelations

Every time Peter was pretty sure things couldn't get worse, they got worse. Because now? _Now_, Matt wasn't talking to him.

At all.

...Well, no, that was a lie. Sometimes, Matt grunted at him. Every once in a while he'd get a short sentence. When Peter walked into a room, Matt barely moved. He was always buried in work or out as Daredevil or in a post-Daredevil 'No, Peter, I don't want to talk to you' funk.

It got old. _Fast_. Made Peter jittery. Without Matt constantly trying to get his attention, Peter felt alone. Kind of abandoned, like he wasn't attractive or like he was some kind of _plague_---

All right, Matt. Point taken.

After four days of this treatment, Peter decided he needed to tell Matt about the Bullseye problem. The one that, at this point, may not have even _existed_. He hadn't even heard that hum for a few days---and he wasn't even totally sure that had _anything_ to do with Bullseye in the first place. Matt was gone when he got home, and a quick call to the office showed he'd already left.

So Peter pulled on his suit and jumped out the window to track him down. He eventually found him on a rooftop, landing easily and walking toward him. Matt didn't acknowledge him, making his way to the edge.

"Hey."

Still nothing.

"Hey!"

...Nope.

"Come on, you can't not talk to me!"

Matt stopped, replying, "Says who?"

Peter grinned. "Gotcha talking."

Matt growled, turning to face Peter but not getting any closer, backing up a step when Peter moved forward.

"Oh, _come on_, Hornhead."

"I'm surprised you're letting yourself _be seen_ with me," Matt said venomously. "What, do I have something you want? Is that why you're willing to talk to me? Maybe you want to reiterate how embarrassing it is to be around me?"

"What? Hey, hey, stop that. It's not like that!" Well, _this_ was going to go well. Matt was more pissed off than he'd expected. "You've been ignoring _me_ lately, don't get all high and mighty."

"High and mighty. Right. I almost forgot how _dramatic_ you are," Matt replied with a snort.

"Oh, hey, pot and kettle. Which one do _you_ want to be?" Peter scowled. "I prefer the kettle myself, but if you want it, you're welcome to it."

"You are such an idiot."

"Do you want a goddamn apology or not?" Peter snapped. He was _so_ close to turning around and leaving. It was cold, it was supposed to rain tonight, and this wasn't shaping up to be worth it.

Matt paused, quiet for a moment. "What makes you think I still _want one_?"

Peter's expression fell behind his mask. "...What?"

"It won't _mean_ anything, Spidey. I don't give a shit."

Peter didn't have a response for that. He expected Matt to turn around and leave---and when he didn't, they ended up just _standing_ there in a one-way stare down, listening to each other _breathe_, angry and loud. Peter just didn't want to drop it, but he wasn't sure why Matt was sticking around.

Eventually, the rain came. And when it hit, it hit _hard_, instantly soaking through Peter's suit, chilling him to the bone. Deciding it _really_ wasn't worth it, he backed away, headed for the doorway into the building itself where he could wait it out or see if the downpour would lessen.

And it was _then_ that he heard Matt's footsteps coming toward him, heavy in the rain. Peter half turned back toward him just as he reached the door; Matt stopped in front of him, and Peter swallowed hard.

A second passed. Two.

At the third, Peter reached up, grabbing Matt by the back of the neck and tugging him in for a hard, painful kiss through his mask. Matt shoved him against the door, pulling away just long enough to tear at Peter's mask and expose his mouth and nose before kissing him again, pushing his tongue into Peter's mouth and _groaning_ when Peter sucked, hands moving desperately over Peter's body. The rain slid off Matt's suit but plastered Peter's to his skin.

The kiss and the touches felt so good they made Peter _ache_. They hadn't touched each other in _weeks_ and Peter couldn't get close enough, pressing against Matt, letting his hands snag on the leather, sliding down over his ass and squeezing with both hands, eliciting a grunt from Matt.

Biting at Peter's mouth, Matt fumbled with the suit until he managed to shove a hand under the bottom half, none too gentle when he wrapped his fingers around Peter's cock and stroked, squeezing in a way that would have been uncomfortable for anybody else. But the hard touch felt _perfect_ to Peter, who _groaned_, bucking into the hand and clinging, hands digging into Matt's back. He nearly whined when Matt pulled away to shove the suit _down_ and drop to his knees, taking Peter into his mouth with no hint of hesitation.

It wasn't soft or loving, hardly affectionate. Just Matt, sucking with every intention of getting Peter off, letting Peter thrust, fucking his mouth, a hand buried in his hair. Matt peeled off his glove, pushing his hand between Peter's legs and shoving two fingers into his ass with a groan around his cock; Peter gasped and squirmed, shoving further down Matt's throat. Either Matt had expected it or that ninja mind-over-matter training was being put to use----rather than choking, Matt stubbornly kept his hand where it was, even as Peter tightened around his fingers. Peter was tough, he could handle it.

And Peter wasn't quiet about it. Most of the noise he made was swallowed by the sound of the rain falling on the building, nearly deafening as Peter moaned, shoved up against the door for support and calling Matt's name, wondering if he could even hear it. It was rough and so good it made his head ache, and if he weren't so distracted, he would have sworn his spider senses were even acting up a bit.

He didn't have time for a warning; when he came, he came _hard_ in Matt's mouth. Matt stayed where he was, sucking until he was sure Peter was done before pushing himself to a stand and kissing him hard on the mouth, hand still between his legs. The taste of his own come was foreign, but Peter had to get used to it fast; Matt had him trapped between the door and his own body, was sucking on his lower lip, and the instinct to find Matt's tongue with his was more powerful than any aversion to the taste of himself.

Matt reluctantly pulled away from the kiss just enough to breathe raggedly, "We need to go home. Right now. I need to---"

"Fuck me. Let's go."

Matt pulled away, letting Peter tug his suit back up and pulling his glove back on before they were leaving, swinging home in the pounding rain, tumbling through the window, Matt coming in after Peter and tackling him to the ground. There was no real foreplay, Matt fumbling again, unbuckling and pushing down the bottom half of his suit before going after Peter's. Like a habit, Peter reached down to grasp Matt's cock, stroking hard; Matt shuddered, losing focus for a moment before Peter pushed him back, twisting so he was on his knees instead.

Tearing his glove off with his teeth, Matt tore at Peter's suit again, exposing his ass and pushing his fingers back in. They should have used lube, but it was too far away---they were soaking wet and Peter could take it, lubricant be _damned_, Matt shoving in a third finger a little too soon and earning a surprised grunt from Peter.

It only lasted a minute or two before Matt pulled his hand away, positioning himself on his knees behind Peter and replacing his fingers with his cock. Here, he was slow, pushing in gradually, hissing and resting his hands on Peter's hips as Peter leaned back. "Fuck," he breathed, fingers digging into Peter's skin, resting fully inside him for a moment. Beneath him, Peter breathed raggedly, dripping water onto the carpet and gently shifting his weight. Waiting for Matt to make his move.

When Matt moved, he _fucked_, hard and harsh and _desperate_, Peter grunting and groaning beneath him, making him shudder. He opened his mouth as if to speak and gave up on the notion, content with sharp moans at every thrust.

It took Matt even less time than Peter to come inside of him, leaning heavily on Peter for support as the orgasm spread his range uncomfortably, shaking. Peter stayed in place, letting Matt pull himself back in even as he rested on shaky arms and knees, catching his breath. Eventually, Matt pulled out, rolling onto his back and leaving Peter free to flop down onto his stomach.

Peter pulled off his mask, tossing it aside before he inched closer to Matt, breathlessly tugging off Matt's cowl and leaning in to kiss his forehead. Matt turned toward him, burying his face against Peter's shoulder while Peter slung an arm across his chest.

There were no words. And for once, Peter was comfortable with that.

* * *

Peter went into work the next day feeling relaxed and more than a little _relieved_. That little stunt on the rooftop the night before hadn't been caught on tape, hadn't been seen by anybody with access to a radio or the internet---at least, not to his knowledge. No one in their right minds would be outside that time of night with the rain that bad, anyway. After they'd recovered and pulled themselves up off the floor, they'd both showered and headed to bed, and Peter had taken it upon himself to go down on Matt to go along with his good bye kiss this morning.

Hell, Matt was even talking to him again.

And work didn't suck. ---Well, no, it sucked, but less than the day before. Kids were still chattering about the _Globe_ cover, but by now, most of them had found something else to gossip about. All in all, the day was going pretty well.

Until sixth period.

Peter hated handing back tests. He didn't mind correcting them, but handing them back was a headache. They were usually late, and most kids hated science---and the ones with bad grades _whined_.

"Oh, stop it. If you'd studied, you wouldn't have so much of a problem, would you?" Peter could feel them glaring holes into his back as he pass, setting corrected tests onto their desks before returning to the front of the room. "On Monday, we start---"

He was cut off by a sharp, unimaginable _pain_ in the back of his skull that made Peter recoil, holding his head and smacking right into the wall before tumbling to the floor, instinctively curling into a fetal position. It was _excruciating_, like someone had tapped into his spider senses and cranked the feeling up so hard he couldn't see straight. The pain lasted for one and a half extremely _long_ seconds, and left his head reeling when it was gone---but when it was gone, he felt fingers tangle in his hair and shove his head against the ground.

And then there was a person, crouching over him, and a voice close to his ear, harsh and so low only Peter could hear.

"Did you really think you could get away with what you did last night?" The voice was male---and ultimately, _amused_. Its owner turned away then, and by the sound of the _click_ Peter heard coming from above him, the man had a gun. Peter's stomach _twisted_, his head still aching from whatever had been done to him, knowing if he moved too fast or too far whoever this was would shoot in an instant. "Nobody move! You all know who I am, and none of you wants to risk getting shot running away, now do you? No? I didn't think so."

The man looked back down and yanked Peter to look up at him. _Bullseye_. What a _shock_. Peter grimaced when Bullseye leaned down, mouth nearly touching Peter's ear when he breathed, "You shouldn't have left your window open, Mr. Parker. You. Me. Inside Matty's church in three hours. You're not there, and I'll come back and kill all your little kids, you hear me? You call Red, I'll kill them anyway."

Peter opened his mouth, but Bullseye let go of him, reaching into his own coat pocket---and then that _pain_ was back again, this time in a momentary _jolt_, just enough to make Peter shriek before Bullseye was hauling him to a stand by his hair.

Nobody had moved, and if they had, they'd gone back to their seats, watching Bullseye---and now, Peter---with wide, scared eyes. Some shook, others were so stiff in their seats it was a wonder if they were breathing or not. Peter couldn't blame them. They were New York City kids, used to violence and guns and school shootings, but they'd never seen the legendary _Bullseye_ put a gun to their chemistry teacher's back before.

"See, kids, this is what happens when you make deals with the devil," Bullseye was saying, shaking Peter a bit. Peter could have twisted around, maybe fought, but Bullseye was at his back and he was in front of his class. He was in a bad position already, but one wrong move and Bullseye could shoot someone---and he never missed. "I'm gonna be nice to Mr. Parker, just this once, for all of you. I'd hate to scar your little eyes by blowing his brains out in front of you. You little bastards will do that to each other without my help, isn't that right, Pete?" Bullseye dug the barrel of the gun into his spine; Peter shifted away from the pain, mouth twisting. "But if things don't _change_, I'll be _back_."

With that, Bullseye let him go, pulling away far enough to comfortably smack Peter _hard_ across the face with the barrel of his gun---and Peter took it, afraid to dodge too fast and give himself away. The pain bloomed across his cheek and nose, and he smelled the blood before he felt it, trailing down over his mouth. Peter stumbled, hitting his desk hard.

And when he looked up, Bullseye was gone.

The room was still and silent, save for the sound of Peter ripping off a wad of paper towel from the roll to press it against his nose, until one student finally found his legs and went over to close the window. Like that would keep Bullseye out if he decided to come _back_. Maybe made brave by the first student, a second approached the desk, tearing another handful of paper towel when the blood soaked through the first, offering it to Peter, who took it gratefully.

"Mr. Parker...? Are you, you know ... gonna be all right?"

"Yeah," Peter breathed. "Yeah, I will, I think---someone call the main office, please. I need a second."

* * *

It took the cops an hour to get there, another to decide it was all right for Peter to go home. He'd really played it up, holding the paper towel to his nose long after he'd stopped bleeding, tearing up a little, sobbing about how he really wanted to go home, he just needed to see his boyfriend, no, a phone call wasn't good enough. He gave the police a statement, omitting all the parts about the night before and the strange pain in his head, saying he'd been hit with something instead. Eventually, they'd let him go.

As soon as he was out of sight of the building, Peter tore off his civs and swung as fast as his webs could carry him to the church. He was swinging right into a trap, but he was more afraid of what Bullseye would do if he _didn't_ show up. Bullseye had too much leverage, and it was better to fight him out of the public eye than be tracked down---or worse, hear about him next because he'd killed someone.

He crawled in through a window on the ceiling---only to have that jarring, excruciating _pain_ back in his head. Peter fell like a rock, hitting the floor hard, landing in front of the dais and curling up, nearly sobbing and covering his head with his arms.

"Not even an _attempt_ at back up?" Bullseye walked up the aisle; Peter couldn't see him---couldn't see straight, couldn't see much of anything---but he knew a nasty grin when he heard one. "You must really love those kids, Spidey. Or Matty. Which do you love more, Pete, Red or the kiddies? It's something to ponder. ---You like my new toy, by the way?"

Peter looked up at Bullseye in time to see Bullseye pull something out of his jacket. It looked like a pen, some blurry buttons trailing up the side. Bullseye pressed one and the pain _increased_, making Peter _shriek_. The sound was almost inhuman as he writhed, trying to push himself away from Bullseye and ending up pressed against the dais.

But he'd gotten what he wanted. He knew what he had to do to make it stop, to fight Bullseye off. Now Peter just had to _do it_. That was the hard part.

"It's a little frequency device. Nice, don't you think? I used your little spider-tracer; it's right inside the pen, see?" Bullseye crouched down in front of him, turning the pen so Peter could see the little spider tracer pressed into the side. Having it so close to his head made the pain _surge_, and Peter guiltily wished Bullseye would just stab him or something instead. A little messier, but ultimately less painful. "It was a challenge getting it strong enough to _hurt_, I've been testing it on you for _weeks_, but I got a good handle on it, don't you think? Hm? No? The least you could do was give an _opinion_."

Peter wanted to say, I can't, you jackass, if I open my mouth I'll _scream_. But he couldn't say it, because if he opened his mouth, he'd scream. He was grinding his teeth so hard they ached, too, to keep from giving Bullseye the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Bullseye stood, viciously kicking Peter in the side. Peter flinched, felt his skin open. Steel-toed, maybe, or maybe he had razors in the soles. Peter couldn't tell, couldn't concentrate enough to tell the different---God, make it stop, make it stop, please make it _stop_. Peter was on his back, squirming, covering his ears like that would help, stomach twisting with painful nausea. His twisting pushed him onto his side and Peter shook, prying one hand away from his head to brace against the floor, hitting the wood so hard it cracked, weakly prying up his mask with his other hand before he heaved on the stairs.

The next kick was to his face, bloodying his nose again, cutting his cheek. Peter covered his nose with a shaking hand, tasting the blood as his hand fell again, both hands on the floor now in a weak attempt to stand. Bullseye reached down, grabbing him by the back of his neck and tossing him into the pews at just the wrong angle; Peter smacked into the pews, knocking one into another and laying awkwardly on the wood, banging his shoulder.

"You know, I killed Red's last girlfriend in this church," Bullseye mused. "Stupid girl, I was going to let her live, but she played hero. Jumped right in front of me. So I killed her. You should thank her; I would've killed Matty instead if she hadn't been there, and _then_ where would you be?" He walked over at a leisurely pace, grabbed Peter's arm and twisted it back so hard Peter felt his shoulder slide out of the socket but couldn't react; it hurt, but not as badly as the pain in his head that was making him whimper.

Peter flexed his fingers, but his hands were shaking so _hard_ he couldn't get them into the right shape to shoot his webbing---not that he could have aimed correctly if he _could_.

"Hn. You're no fun when you're not talking, you know that?" Peter heard Bullseye scoff---and then the pain lessened, just a bit. Enough that it wasn't as excruciating as before.

Which was actually a bad thing, because when Bullseye kicked him this time, he really _felt_ it, grunting and curling up, the pain blooming over his side. Definitely a knife, judging by the blood and the searing _pain_.

"You won't kill me," Peter choked, coughing on the blood dripping from his nose.

Bullseye chuckled, tucking the pen back in his jacket and lazily pulling a cigarette out of his coat and lighting it. "That so, Spidey?"

"Yeah." Peter shifted, moving to push himself back up until Bullseye pulled something out of his jacket and tossed it in Peter's direction. His spider senses surged up, but with the frequency device on, it did more harm than good, and the quarter went right _through_ his shoulder at such close range. Peter nearly _screamed_, forcing it down, flopping back down on the floor and holding his shoulder.

"And why _not_?"

"Because," Peter panted. "Because if you wanted to _kill me_, you'd have done it in---ah---in front of my _kids_. Or in front of _Matt_. You'd ... you'd want someone to watch me _die_, you'd want me to _know_ they were there. You wouldn't isolate me if you wanted me _dead_."

Bullseye applauded, grinning. "Good _boy_, Spidey. But you know what that means?" He walked back over, crouching in front of Peter, breathing cigarette smoke in his face. "It means that good, quiet death you'll be hoping for when I'm done with you? Isn't coming."

Peter growled, grabbing Bullseye's ankle with his good hand. "You don't know me _at all_."

"Oh, Webby, I know you. ---Or at the very least, I know that _this_ will hurt." With that, Bullseye took the cigarette from between his lips and ground the hot end into Peter's cheek where he'd pulled up the mask.

Peter screamed, recoiling immediately to cover his face. His head ached, and now his face _burned_. It was a miracle Peter wasn't sobbing yet.

Bullseye actually moved to sit down in one of the pews nearby, drawing a deck of cards out of his pocket, shuffling. Like he couldn't let his hands be idle. "Peter Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn't keep 'er, divorced him and's been gone a year, so depressed he's now a queer---what _would_ little MJ say about this, by the way? Oh, yes, Peter, I know about MJ. I do my homework. Lucky girl, she's gone and now she's in LA. Nice and safe. Smart lady, too bad she couldn't stand you."

Peter scowled, glaring up at Bullseye. "Don't you even---you son of a _bitch_---"

Bullseye pulled out a card and tossed it; it sank into Peter's leg, making him grunt and reach down, shaking too much to twist down far enough to grab it. "Now now, Peter. Don't get so upset, you're with Matty, remember? Be nice." Another card, and then another, all lined up nice and neat in Peter leg and making him whine with pain. "I'm not going to _kill_ her. Or you, or Matty, just yet. Though I might pick off a couple of those kids regardless, what do you think? I'm sure you hate some of them, I'll even let you pick which ones get to go."

_That_ really did it. Peter pushed himself up, pain be damned, and _launched_ himself at Bullseye, slamming right into him and toppling the pew over, sending playing cards flying. Peter was still shaking, still in terrible agony, but he was on top now, and Bullseye had been caught off guard before he could reach for the frequency pen.

"You touch my kids, I will rip your _heart_ out of your _body_, Bullseye!" Peter spat, holding him down by the throat, his vision and balance still too far off to even think about a _punch_.

"You wouldn't," Bullseye said with a little chuckle. "You don't kill, remember?" He reached into his coat, pulling out the pen and holding it in front of Peter's face. Peter reached up, but just as he did, Bullseye hit a button that turned it _up_.

Peter _shrieked_, but his hand was close enough that he grabbed the top of the pen on reflex.

There was a little snap. Bullseye gasped----and then, the pain was _gone_, fading away. He was still a little woozy, but his vision was clearer.

And more importantly, he wasn't shaking anymore. His left arm still hurt like hell---well, _all_ of him pretty much hurt like hell---but his head was clear again, and he slid the hand that hand broken the pen down to Bullseye's wrist, breaking it in one swift motion.

"No!" Bullseye cried. "No, not my hands!"

"Technically, it's not your hand, you big crybaby," Peter scoffed, webbing Bullseye down by the throat first, then by the broken wrist, adhering it to the pew. "It's your wrist." When Bullseye brought up his other hand---to smack Peter? Grab him? What? Come on, now.---Peter's good hand snapped over to grab it, 'accidentally' breaking his thumb and listening to Bullseye cry out. "Oop. My bad." He didn't enjoy the sound of Bullseye---or anyone---in agony, but he didn't feel that bad, either.

Easily webbing Bullseye's other wrist, Peter dragged himself to his feet, swaying a bit and still half bent over when he webbed Bullseye's feet, while he was at it. His head was still spinning, and when he walked back, he stumbled, nearly tripping over Bullseye.

Peter dropped to his knees again (standing was a bit much at this point) to dig through Bullseye's pockets with his good arm, closing his fingers around a cell phone and dialing 911, quietly grateful that Bullseye's phone was on silent. He didn't think he could handle the beeping of regular cellphone keystrokes right now.

"Hi? Hi, I---yeah. I have an emergency. Sorta. ... I'm at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Clinton, and I---I'm not dying, no, I just sort of found Bullseye." Peter coughed, listened to the woman on the other hand pause in disbelief and ask him to repeat himself. "Yeah. Bullseye, the bad guy. All webbed down. Tell them to get here before an hour's over? 'Cause he's covered in webbing and it takes an hour to dissolve. I----am I who? Spider---no. I'm not. I'm just kind of a nerd, I know these things. Yeah. Okay. Sure, I'll wait for you, but my battery is dying, I can't stay on for more than, like, a minute."

Peter actually enjoyed pretending to be the clueless guy who'd just found the big bad Bullseye. It let him take his mind off the pain. ...Was that weird? It was probably weird.

"You lying little bastard," Bullseye spat. "You're as bad as I am."

Peter rolled his eyes, even if Bullseye couldn't appreciate it, hitting the End button on the phone and tossing it back at him, hitting Bullseye in the face with it. "Oh, shut up. I am so done with you."

"But I'm not done with _you_, Spidey."

"...Wow. That is _so_ original," Peter said dryly. "I swear, I have _never_ heard that one before. I'm terrified, really." He was, but it was more fun to piss Bullseye off like this.

"You should be." Bullseye grinned. "I know where you live. I know who you _are_. And I won't stay in jail, you know I won't."

"Yeah, but ... come on----" Peter reached over and grabbed the pen. "---this is mine, by the way----who's actually going to _believe_ you, crazy man?"

Bullseye just _laughed_. It was kind of creepy.

Peter dragged himself back up, stumbling out of the church and fishing his backpack out from behind the dumpster he'd used to hide it next door before heading home, painstakingly tearing out the cards in his leg before limping in the direction of his apartment. He webslung a little bit, relying heavily on his good right arm and leg, stumbling onto the roof of his apartment building.

He just had to hope no one saw him, that no one was picking right now to walk the halls. Ambling uncomfortably down the stairs, Peter found his door (mercifully on the second floor down), sliding his bag down his good arm to the elbow and fumbling uselessly for his keys.

He was surprised when the door _opened_ instead. Peter looked up to see _Matt_, who just paused for a moment, nostrils flaring. Taking in the way Peter must have smelled and sounded before breathing, "Oh my _God_" and pulling him in gently by the back of his neck. Peter stumbled, grateful to have Matt to lean against, hearing the door close behind him.

"Hi," Peter muttered, dropping his bag and clinging to Matt with his good arm. Okay. He would be okay, he was alive (he'd known he would be) and he wouldn't have to recover alone. He could recover with Matt, here and safe and---

"Matt, what the _hell_ is going on?"

Peter flinched when he heard Foggy's voice. Oh, _shit_. He tried to pull back, but Matt held him stubbornly against his chest. "Don't _move_," Matt scolded gently, running his hands over Peter's face and grimacing when he felt blood, jerking back when he touched the burn and Peter _hissed_. "Hang on a sec, Fog." Distracted. Go away, Foggy, Peter's hurt, don't you _get it_?

"Can I sit?" Peter mumbled, abandoning the strong, trudging, numbed up hero act in favor of the 'I'm in a shitload of pain please take care of me' shtick. "I need to sit."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Matt spoke softly, the way Peter did to him when his head hurt and he couldn't pull in his senses, when he _needed_ that soft voice. He gently guided Peter over to the couch and eased him down to sit. Papers were strewn over the coffee table, and Foggy hastily moved to get up off the couch and move the papers, tucking them away. "Foggy, could you get me the first aid kit? And some hot water."

"Sure, yeah, okay." Foggy left and Peter vaguely paid attention to his heavy footsteps walking out of the room.

"What happened?" Matt ran his hands lightly over Peter's body, jerking back when Peter flinched, resting on his dislocated shoulder.

"Pop that back in for me, yeah?"

"Count of three?"

"Count of nothing, just pop it----_shit_!" Matt had slammed Peter's shoulder back into place while he spoke, and Peter grudgingly brought up his arm to rub it, grimacing. "_Thanks._"

"You're welcome. What happened?" Ghosting his hands over Peter again, hissing when he found the cuts on Peter's side.

"It---ah, Jesus, watch your hands---Bullseye."

Matt faltered. "_What_?"

Peter grunted when he shifted, cradling his bad arm with the good one. "Bullseye. He ... can I explain this later? Please? He's headed for jail right now, can we not talk about this right now?"

Matt paused, frowned, like he _really_ wanted to keep asking, wanted to try and lawyer an answer out of Peter, but he held his tongue. "Later." He leaned forward, carefully cradling the back of Peter's neck, kissing his forehead---not wanting to go near his bloody mouth or burnt cheek. Instead, he kissed Peter's forehead, his temple, even between his eyes, anywhere covered by the mask.

"Matt...?" Foggy was back, bearing the first aid kit and a bowl of hot water---and looking extremely confused as to why the _hell_ Matt was kissing Spider-Man. Like he had his suspicions but didn't want to throw them just yet.

Matt rested his cheek against Peter's hair, muttering, "Pete...?" Too low for Foggy to hear.

Peter hesitated, shifting nervously and whining quietly in pain. The last thing he wanted was another person who knew, but ...

"We can trust Foggy," Matt breathed, as if reading his thoughts.

Another moment of silence, and Peter nodded. "It's okay."

Matt took a deep breath, and then he gently pulled the mask off of Peter's face, careful not to brush the burn on his cheek.

"Foggy, you remember Peter."


	17. The Foggy Nelson Chapter

Foggy dropped the first aid kit.

"I...what?" He was staring _right at_ Peter and still couldn't seem to _get it_. Granted, Peter looked worse for wear, the spider suit torn up, blood dripping off his face and shoulder and leg. He didn't exactly look the same.

Peter raised a hand, waving weakly. "Hi, Foggy." He tried to give Foggy a reassuring smile, but ... well. When your face is covered in blood it doesn't really come off _comforting_.

Foggy shook his head, pulling himself out of his open-mouth staring _shock_ and grabbing the first aid kit again, setting the bowl of water down on the coffee table. He'd seen Matt roughed up worse; it was the fact that it was _Spider-Man_ sitting there, that Spider-Man was Peter Parker, who was Matt's boyfriend. Who Foggy had warned Matt to be careful with, you might hurt him or scar him for life, he's normal and fragile.

Honestly, he felt kind of stupid now, knowing. Spider-Man had been around before Matt even _considered_ the horns. There was a veteran superhero, sitting on Matt's couch all messed up and gross and not crying like a little baby when he had every right to. It was a little humbling.

"Hi," Foggy managed. "It's ... nice to meet you. Again."

Peter gave him a sympathetic look, seeming to feel genuinely guilty for pulling Foggy in. "You don't have to stay here, this is probably ... really, really weird."

"I can handle it, Fog," Matt assured him, gently sifting his fingers through Peter's hair, searching for head wounds.

"Now, wait just a minute. I've patched you up, and I'm not gonna back out on Spider-Man. On ... Peter." This was going to take some getting used to. Foggy cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably, staring at Peter again (Peter? Seriously? Skinny little kid from Queens was _Spider-Man_? Holy shit. Holy _shit_.) before shaking his head. "Besides. You're blind and the smell is going to give you a headache soon."

Matt frowned. "I can _handle it_." Insulted, like Foggy was implying that Matt couldn't take care of his own _boyfriend_.

"_Matt._."

"_Foggy._"

"_Peter_," Peter piped in, rolling his eyes as Foggy and Matt turned back toward him. "Look, I know you ladies would love to duke it out and take care of me, but you're giving me a headache and I hurt enough as it is. I need four things."

"What?" Foggy and Matt demanded, a little harsher than necessary.

Peter flinched, shifting uncomfortably and reaching out, grabbing Matt's wrist, prompting Matt to turn his hand and take Peter's, squeezing reassuringly. "Shower. Band aids. Pain killers. And Mountain Dew."

Foggy cocked an eyebrow. "Mountain Dew?"

Peter nodded. "Or 7UP. I want a damn _drink_ after all that, but mixing Advil and beer is so not a good idea." Funny, Foggy noted, how Peter could be twisting around in obvious pain, trying his hardest to stay still for Matt, and he could _still_ talk his head off. "Matt, can you...? Shower? Please?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

There was something _incredibly_ tender in the way Matt shifted around Peter, gently drawing Peter's good right arm over his shoulder and lifting him up, carefully sliding an arm around his waist and taking him to the bathroom. Foggy had never seen Matt so damn _loving_ before, not like this. He was sure Matt and Elektra had nursed their wounds together before, but that was before Foggy had known, and he never would have seen something like this. He was silent as they walked away, muttering something to each other too quiet for him to overhear.

Foggy watched them go, shaking his head before plopping down on the couch, going through the first aid kit. He knew his way around it, having had to patch Matt up a couple times. Bandages for Peter's leg and shoulder, patches for his face, ointment for the nasty burn on his cheek. Matt would be nursing those kind of injuries for weeks, the burn would pulse and ache the whole time, he'd be flinching every time someone passed too close. From the look of Peter's shoulder they would need a sling for support; there had been a large area of blood, he'd probably been stabbed---or, with Bullseye involved, had something thrown at him, though judging by the way he moved, nothing had gotten lodged in there. Or if it was, Peter wasn't saying anything. All that would have had Matt shaking and crying---would have had _anyone_ shaking and crying. Maybe Peter had gone numb. Maybe he was crazy. They were all crazy, the people who put on tights and played superhero.

If he listened carefully, he could hear Peter hiss as he stepped into the shower. When Matt didn't come back out, Foggy had to assume he was there with him, helping him wash off the grime and the blood. He didn't want to imagine it, his best friend with his hands all over some guy.

It would be a lie to say Foggy wasn't jealous. He'd been there for Matt, through _everything_, and suddenly some other guy had shown up and given Matt what he needed and Foggy was left with ... what? He was still Matt's friend, but Matt was absorbed in Peter. Just like he got absorbed in the women he dated, but this was different. Peter was a man---so Matt did manly buddy things with him, too. Peter could be the boyfriend _and_ the best friend, and Matt wouldn't come to Foggy to bitch about Peter the way he would bitch about his girlfriends. He was aware that Foggy was uncomfortable with the whole thing---or maybe it was because he hadn't wanted to give away Peter's alter ego. Either way.

Eventually, Matt returned to the living room without Peter, easing back down on the couch. "He'll be in a bad mood," was the first thing he said. "Peter's kind of a bitch when he's in a bad mood. You really ... you don't have to stick around if you don't want to."

Foggy frowned. Despite Matt's tone, he could tell Matt was shaken---and it was no wonder, with Bullseye being involved. Matt didn't like to share his pain, even with Foggy. Foggy knew what he was trying to do.

"I'm not going anywhere," Foggy assured him, reaching up to put a hand on Matt's shoulder. "How's he doing?" Peter was Spider-Man. Wow. Just ... wow.

"He's tired," Matt said quietly, distractedly. He must have been watching Peter in the shower. Making sure. Even in another room, all he could concentrate on was _Peter_. Foggy wasn't sure whether he should find it sweet or hate it---

So maybe he was just being vindictive. That wasn't fair. Matt was allowed to worry.

"He looks tired." Holy understatement, Batman. "He gonna be okay?"

Matt laughed, but it was a harsh, wet noise, like someone trying not to cry. "Pete? Yeah, of course he will be. He's always okay. It's one of his super powers, apparently."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence when Matt rested his face in his hand, pulling off his glasses and setting them on the coffee table. Foggy just squeezed his shoulder.

"...So. Spider-Man, huh?"

Matt cracked a smile. "Yeah."

"Can't believe some kid is _Spider-Man_," Foggy said; there was a weird relief in being able to say it out loud.

"As opposed to ... who?"

"I don't know. I always imagined him as older, almost. Our age, maybe a little older. He's been around for so long." Yeah, wow. Spider-Man had been around for ... twelve and a half, thirteen years? Foggy paused. "...How old _is_ Peter?"

Matt opened his mouth but found he had to think. Closed it. Frowned. "Twenty-eight? I think. Turned twenty-eight last April."

"Jesus Christ, Matt," Foggy breathed.

"Kicker, isn't it?" Matt shook his head, like he hadn't even gotten over it yet. "He'd been Spider-Man for _five years_ before I even _considered_... ---He was just a kid, Foggy. He still is. I'd say he's too young to be doing this, but he's better ... better at it than I am," he finished, voice hushing. Like he was embarrassed, or maybe he felt sorry for Peter. It was hard to tell.

All Foggy could think of to say was 'Jesus Christ'---so rather than repeat himself, he was quiet, letting Matt concentrate on Peter in the shower. It was more than Matt had _ever_ talked about Peter, and it was no wonder. They were both superheroes. This was the biggest thing they had in common, and what else did they really _have_? A teacher and a lawyer, ten years apart, completely different parts of the city, different lives, different everything. Superheroism must have drawn them together---and because of that, they had some deep bond that Foggy could never hope to compete with. No matter how much he didn't like it.

"Is it bad," Matt said suddenly, "that I still want to protect him? Even knowing how _strong_ he is, I still want to... ---It's stupid. Peter can handle himself. I don't need to watch out for him, he just fought off _Bullseye_. He's fine."

Foggy got the sense that Matt wasn't _really_ asking him anything, trying to work it out for himself, but he still answered, "It's natural to want to protect the people you ... love." Foggy paused before tentatively asking, "..._Do_ you love him?"

Matt didn't answer him.

Before Foggy could repeat the question, Peter was coming back out of the shower in a pair of boxers, a towel wrapped around his head. He was limping, heavily favoring his right leg, and Matt was up as soon as Peter entered the room to let Peter lean against him before easing him down onto the couch. Close up and clean, the injuries didn't look quite as bad. Watching him sit, Foggy retook the inventory: cut cheek, small circular burn---from a cigarette, maybe---a couple gashes on his side, a small but clearly _deep_ cut in his shoulder (that one went all the way _through_, as Foggy could see from his position beside Peter from a glance at his back; ouch), though that seemed to have missed any vital areas. Peter held his left arm strangely, but it must have _ached_ from the wound and having to pop it back in. A line of short, deep parallel cuts were on his left calf and thigh. Bullseye must not have had time to slice open the artery in Peter's leg, or had never intended to in the first place. All this Foggy took in while Matt sat on the coffee table, carefully avoiding the things Foggy had laid out, touching Peter face and neck and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, ignoring Foggy when he shifted uncomfortably and looked away. That tiny show of affection still didn't sit well with him.

"We should take you to a doctor, Peter," Foggy finally said, interrupting their little moment. "Whatever happened to your shoulder---"

"Quarter," Peter supplied.

"Right. You'll probably need stitches." Peter shook his head, and before he could protest, Foggy added, "Don't you go pulling that 'I'm too tough for stitches' junk Matt tries to pull over on me all the time. Besides, the Night Nurse is nearby, she'll take you. You know the Night Nurse, don't you?"

"I do, but I actually _am_ too tough for stitches." Peter grinned, and Foggy wanted to smack the look right off his face---and might've, if it wasn't so obviously strained. "Give me a few days, maybe like a week. This'll all heal up---or at least turn to bruises. The shoulder's gonna take a while, but I've had a lot worse."

Foggy frowned, reaching for the hand sanitizer in the first aid kit. He didn't want whatever germs were on his hands to get into Peter's open wounds when he went slathering Neosporin all over them. "Don't tell me. Super healing is _actually_ one of your powers?"

Peter shrugged without thinking---and then hissed, flinching. "Yeah. It actually is."

"Go figure," Foggy muttered, picking up the tube of Neosporin amd squeezing some out onto his finger, gently touching the cut on Peter's shoulder. Peter grunted, but stayed put. Foggy noticed Matt's disappointed frown, could practically _hear_ Matt thinking at him. This is my gig, Foggy, get your hand off my boyfriend.

Jackass. Then again, he could have misread that---but probably not. Foggy was nearly as good at reading people as Matt was, and he could _definitely_ read Matt. It was a lawyer thing, and a best friend thing. ...That, and Matt had some seriously transparent facial expressions. Came with the blindness.

But Foggy stubbornly bandaged Peter's arm while Matt cradled Peter's head against his chest. Matt was being oddly clingy---especially in front of Foggy; he tended to avoid being all over Peter when Foggy was around---but considering Peter had just escaped death by Bullseye, Foggy had to forgive him. He just needed to touch Peter to assure himself that Peter was alive. That was okay.

Peter spent the whole time chatting to keep his mind off of the pain in his shoulder, mostly murmuring to Matt. Assuring Matt he would be just fine, a little sleep, some time, he'd be perfectly back to normal. Foggy's hands moved almost automatically, half-listening while he patched Peter up, mostly thinking to himself. He wasn't even sure how much he _liked_ this guy, and here he was, wrapping a bandage around his shoulder before tending to the cuts on his side---nasty gouges where a short blade had sliced through and something that _wasn't_ a knife had connected, so the cuts were framed in nasty bruises.

"What I want to know," Matt said, cutting off Peter's idle chit-chat. "Is what actually _happened_. Pete." He pushed the towel up a bit to lean down and kiss his forehead. "And if this has anything to do with why you haven't been coming near me."

Peter hesitated, flinching under Foggy's hand. "I ... well. Couple weeks ago, I stopped a mugging---_ow_---chased off the mugger but tossed a spider tracer on his jacket. I guess Bullseye saw---I think he actually tried to hurl a quarter at me or something and I dodged, but I was too distracted by the mugging to check it out---went after the guy and took the spider tracer before I could get to him." He was talking faster than normal, voice tensing up, but he kept _going_, talking nonstop to distract himself. "So I go after the guy, went to the building where the signal was before it disappeared, and I find the lady's purse---he ran off with the lady's purse and I chased him to get it back---and there's a note on it that says 'I know who you are', all creepy-like---"

"He knows who you are?" Matt interrupted---a bit more harshly than he'd probably meant to.

"_Yes_, Sherlock, now shut up, I'm not done. ---Jesus on a stick, what are you _doing_ down there, Foggy?" Peter looked down as Foggy was pressing gauze over the wound.

"Oh, don't mind me," Foggy said, smoothing the gauze and making Peter _wince_. "Keep going."

"Yeah. Okay. So, anyway, he leaves this note. I get creeped the hell out and go home. Spider tracer signal's gone, and Matt would know if he was around the apartment, so I went to sleep. Went into work the next day, because I can't afford to miss more or I'll get sacked, and there's a note on my _window_ from him." Peter squirmed and Matt tightened his grip on him to keep Peter still. "Right there, and it says 'Hi, Mr. Parker'. But I find it while I'm on the phone with the boss, who's pissed about the _Globe_ headline and now parents are bitching because the science teacher was on the cover of a tabloid with an _allegedly_ violent blind vigilante, so I had to try not to, you know, scream or cry or something when I see the thing. I throw that out, hang up, go into my drawer, and there's _another_ that says 'How's Matty?'---which is why I called you. Make sure you were alive and all."

"You should've _told me_," Matt snapped. "You should've goddamn _told me_ as soon as you knew what was going on! Why didn't you, what the hell is _wrong_ with you?!"

"Matt---Matt, don't _talk_ so loud, you're giving me a headache." Peter frowned. "I didn't tell you because you ... well, because you ... had that thing with Bullseye last fall. I didn't want you to worry if I could handle it."

The room went quiet, except for Peter's uncomfortable, pained noises as Foggy secured the patches on his side.

Finally, Matt eventually said sourly, "Go on."

Peter winced. "And then there was nothing. Just ... no notes, no threats. Nothing."

"No, and then you _avoided_ me and made me think you hated my guts. _Peter_." Matt frowned. "Was that it? You were so fucking nervous about Bullseye that you wouldn't touch me? You could've at least _told me_ something was up before I thought you just weren't interested in fu---"

"_Okay_, ladies, can you do this part later?" Foggy interjected. Matt immediately turned away, embarrassed. "So you spent a couple weeks avoiding Matt because of Bullseye, blah blah blah, and then what?"

"...Well, it wasn't entirely about Bullseye," Peter admitted, mumbling. "I didn't want ... people to see us together." He looked none-too-happy about saying this in front of Foggy---or maybe just about saying it at all. "I didn't want anyone seeing us together as Spider-Man and Daredevil and connecting the dots. That, and ... and that _Globe_ cover got me in a _shitload_ of trouble, Matt. At both jobs. I didn't want it to happen again. You can handle it, but I'm not my own boss, here. Jonah was _pissed_ that _he_ didn't get that headline, Principal Kim's calling me an unreliable danger magnet who's putting the school through more trouble than it's worth. It's scary shit and---"

"Peter." Foggy nudged his leg. "You'll have to move."

"---Oh. Sorry, hang on." Peter shifted---and Matt automatically shifted with him, settling behind him while Peter pulled his legs up onto the couch so Foggy wouldn't have to crouch down. "I don't like having media attention, Matt. Neither do you, but you can afford it. Me and my paycheck can't."

Matt opened his mouth, and Foggy was _positive_ Matt was going to say something to the effect of 'tough shit' or 'deal with it'---but Matt stopped himself, kissing Peter's good shoulder instead and muttering, "Sorry."

"...Yeah. Well." Peter, clearly not used to getting apologies, rested against him, pausing before he continued: "Anyway. That night we, you know ...---" Don't say it, Peter, don't say it, please. "---well, you know. Bullseye saw us, I guess, and used that as an excuse to jump me at school and---"

"He went to your _school_?!" Matt nearly jumped, jarring Peter and earning a painful grunt.

"_Careful_, Matt, or I'm going to end up stabbing him in the leg down here." Foggy frowned.

"Sorry---your school? Bullseye went after you in your _civs_?"

"Yeah, he did," Peter said softly---seemingly so he wouldn't start yelling. It was more serious than Foggy had ever seen him; suddenly, this wasn't quite as ... light-hearted or flippant as Peter had been treating the story so far. "I didn't fight him---how could I, without giving myself away and giving him more reason to shoot a _kid_. He actually ... he pulled a gun on my _kids_, Matt. Attacked _me_, jammed a gun into my back in front of them. He didn't touch them, thank God, but he gave me a bloody nose and told me if I didn't meet him, alone, that he'd come after the students next." Peter scratched the side of his nose, wincing hard and nearly pulling his leg away from Foggy's care.

"How did he get past your spider senses, though?" Matt frowned. "I don't understand how he got close enough to you in the first place."

Peter hesitated. "He had a ... a thing. This little frequency device, looked like a pen. He'd used my spider tracer to tap into my spider senses' frequency and turned the power all the way up. I followed him, of course, I didn't feel like I had a _choice_---and even with that thing, I managed to get him down and to the police. And then I came home. Wasn't easy." He sounded proud of himself, but ultimately seemed to regret how it had gone. "See? I was fine, Matt."

"You could have _died_!" Matt spat; Foggy could see him shaking. "How is that _fine_?"

"I didn't have a _choice_, Matt!" Peter snapped. "I couldn't risk those kids. Not for me, not for _anything_. He never meant to kill me, anyway; he wanted to mess me up and send me home to you to say 'look what I can do to your life' or something stupid like that."

"It's not stupid, Peter, it's _real_. I know you have an issue with perspective, but not everyone's as goddamn flippant as you are. Jesus." With that, Matt pushed himself up off the couch, stalking off toward the window, shifting restlessly before he decided to stalk into his office instead, slamming the door.

Peter had to reach back, catching himself on his good hand and watching Matt go. "What the _hell_ is his problem?"

Foggy stared up at Peter, wrapping the bandage around his leg. "You could try taking him seriously, for starters," he said with a frown.

"I _do_ take him seriously!" Peter protested, resting his left arm in his lap. "I do, but I can handle things, you know. I took this on without his help. I saved him weeks of _worrying_ and kept him out of the crossfire. The hell is he pissed for?"

"...Do you wear blinders?"

"What?"

Foggy sighed, shaking his head. "You didn't tell him about Bullseye."

"...Yeah."

"His arch nemesis?" Foggy felt kind of stupid himself, actually using that phrase out loud. "The guy who killed _two_ of Matt's girlfriends? If he'd killed you---"

"Which he didn't."

"That's not the point. Shut up and let me finish." What he wouldn't give to be able to smack Peter right over the head right now. "If he had, you know what that would've done to Matt? You didn't tell him. To him, it's like you don't trust him enough to let him handle his _own_ villain. And then you come back like it's no big deal that someone like that had his hands on you in the first place."

Peter was silent for a moment, looking into his lap. "...Yeah, but. But I'm fine. I'm home. I'm fine."

"It's not _all about you_," Foggy said slowly, as if he needed to spell it out for Peter. "Doesn't matter if you're fine or not---this, by the way, does not look, smell, or sound _fine_, no matter what excuses you have---but ... Peter, you _scared him_. And now you're brushing off his fear. Of course he's pissed."

"Oh."

_Finally._ "Yeah. So."

Peter shifted, as if to push himself off the couch, saying, "I should go---"

"_No_." Foggy gently pulled him back down. "I'm not done with your face. You'll stay right here until I'm done."

Peter looked over, blinking. "...Yes, Aunt May."

Foggy snorted. Patching up the cut and burn on Peter's face was a bit of a challenge; he kept flinching away, making Foggy grab his chin to keep him still like a little kid getting his face cleaned. He wasn't even sure _why_ he was going this far, why he didn't let Peter handle himself. He certainly had taken care of himself before, but ... well, maybe Foggy was trying to find some way to like him. He had a healthy amount of respect for him now, but in the end, Peter was clearly still a kid. A brave, reckless, tough kid, but still very young. It was hard to look up to someone so young after going over his wounds.

"So where are your mom and dad, kiddo?" Foggy asked, speaking to keep Peter's mind off the burn; he was fine through the gashes, but that tiny burn seemed to bother him more than anything, and it was hard to keep him in one place. "I met your aunt, but what about them?"

"First of all, please, don't call me 'kiddo'," Peter answered with a frown. "It just ... you know, I'm with your best friend, that makes me feel gross inside. And my parents are dead. Died together in a plane crash when I was a little kid. My Uncle Ben---Dad's brother---and his wife took me in."

"You have an uncle?"

"Yeah." Peter's voice hushed. "He's dead, too. It's a long story, I really don't want to talk about it. Let's just say it's my origin and leave it at that."

"Oh." Foggy dropped it. Okay, parents were a sore spot for everybody here. Go figure. He finished Peter's face in silence, Peter gratefully pulling away when he let go.

"Thanks," Peter said, a little reluctantly, moving again to push himself off the couch. "I need to---"

Foggy hopped up. "No, I'll get it. Soda and Advil, right?"

"Not that, but yeah, I need those, too. Thanks," he repeated, pushing himself up anyway and hobbling over to Matt's office door. As Foggy moved into the kitchen for the soda and looked for the painkillers, he could hear Peter, knocking gently on the door, leaning against it for support. "Matt? ...Matty, come on. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. ...You're doing the broody thing, you know that, right? Please? Matt, come out here, I need a hug. Can I get a hug?"

Foggy was just coming back to the living room, looking down the hall and watching Peter. He almost wanted to laugh and immediately felt bad, looking at Peter with his bandages and his banged up left side, foot raised a little off the ground so he didn't put weight on his leg, hands against the door like he could touch Matt through it.

Surprisingly, Matt opened the door at that last bit, reaching out to pull Peter into a secure, slightly-too-rough hug. Peter flinched but didn't stop him, left arm limp while he clung to Matt with the other. Foggy looked away when Matt kissed Peter's neck and muttered something to him; he didn't want to guess what Matt was saying, it wasn't his business.

When Peter returned to the couch, it was with Matt supporting him, easing him down onto the cushions again. Foggy cleared his throat and slid the can of Mountain Dew and the bottle of Advil over in front of him, hearing Peter mutter a thanks before reaching for them. The can opened with a hiss, and Peter swallowed three pills without hesitation, washing it down with most of the soda in the can.

"All right. I need to lay down. Wake me up in, like ... an hour and a half and I'll make dinner or something."

Foggy balked. "We'll order a pizza, Peter, don't worry about it. You go sleep."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine, seriously, just give me an hour and a half. You guys do what you do and I'll find ... something. You know, since you stayed and ... helped. I mean, you're a guest and stuff, we should at least do _something_ and God knows Matt can't cook..." Peter was floundering, he was clearly more than a little tired, and if Foggy didn't know better, he'd swear Peter was trying really _hard_ to get Foggy to like him. Foggy wasn't sure how much it was working, but he appreciated it.

"I---"

"We'll come get you," Matt said, cutting Foggy off.

"But, Matt---"

Matt cleared his throat, and Foggy nodded. Oh. "I'll see you then, Peter. Get some sleep."

"'Kay." Peter pushed himself up off the couch. "Thank you, again. For helping. Means a lot and all that." Peter swayed a bit, Matt automatically reaching over to steady him before gently pulling him closer. "I can make it, Matt. It's just a little limp."

"Shut up and come here." Matt was stubborn, leaning down so he could pick Peter up, despite his protests, careful to cradle Peter's right side against him. Peter turned an interesting shade of red, looking away from Foggy---an action Foggy mirrored, deliberately turning away to pack up the kit and pull out the papers again while Matt took Peter to the bedroom to let him lay down, hearing Peter's good-natured protests the whole way.

When Matt came back, Foggy had returned the coffee table to its former state of paper-covered organized clutter, reaching for Matt's hand when he sat and pressing it over the document he'd been reading when Peter stumbled in, commenting, "I guess he's kinda cute. A little bit."

Matt snorted, clearly more at ease now that Peter was patched up and resting. "And he thinks highly of you, too."

Foggy chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Does he really?"

"...Yeah, he does."

"Oh. ...Seriously?"

Matt nodded. "He really wants you to like him."

Foggy frowned, suddenly feeling bad for being uncomfortable with the whole situation. But ... hell. He _was_ uncomfortable, no matter how nice or good for Matt Peter seemed so far. With Matt's relationships, there was _always_ a catch. One that got Matt into serious trouble.

Still, he answered, "We'll see."

* * *

A couple hours later, Foggy headed home, leaving Matt with finished work and an empty pizza box, another pizza on the counter, set aside for Peter. After a while he'd gotten used to Peter's steady, sleeping heartbeat, enough to start fully concentrating on his work. Part of him wanted to lock all the doors and windows, maybe chain Peter down to make sure he didn't get himself into any trouble, but that was foolish. Peter was fine, curled up in bed and sleeping, and very, very much alive.

Still, every fifteen or twenty minutes or so, Matt would pause what he was doing, just to hone in on Peter, listen to his heart and his breath. Just to make sure. He didn't want to admit how badly Peter had shaken him, coming home like that. But Peter was tough, Peter could fight. Maybe that was what Matt needed, someone so indestructible, damaged but scarred over and strong for it instead of broken. Peter was everything Matt wasn't, except for the superhero thing, had never shot up or attacked him or attempted suicide.

He wasn't someone Matt could save and protect, because he didn't need saving. He wasn't going to get held up by the throat by Bullseye and impaled anytime soon, Peter would have caught the club as it flew through the air instead of taking it in the chest. But, strangely, even knowing that, Matt had to check on him and make sure he was still there and alive and breathing.

For his own sake.

After Foggy left, Matt showered, tugging on a pair of soft sweatpants before crawling into bed. Peter was still sleeping softly, resting in his good side. Matt leaned down, careful to crawl up at Peter's right so he didn't have to lean over the bruising at the bad shoulder, kissing his hair and touching his cheek before settling down next to him. Peter slept with his mouth slightly open, breath still smelling faintly of spearmint toothpaste without overwhelming, the scent of Dove soap and the lingering traces of the spider suit clinging to his skin. Peter wore the suit so often the smell was a part of him, the way Matt perpetually smelled of leather.

Once Matt was near Peter, he couldn't stop touching him, cradling Peter's cheek, gently kissing his hair, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Eventually, Peter stirred, tilting his head up that extra half an inch to kiss Matt on the mouth, just resting there for a long, quiet minute before shifting to cuddle against Matt's chest.

"What time is it?" Peter slurred, clinging to the hem of Matt's sweats with his good hand.

"Mm. Seven-thirty, eightish?"

Peter groaned, nuzzling Matt's chest, his hair brushing over Matt's throat, sticking a little to his damp skin. "Told you to get me up."

"You were sleeping," Matt said softly. "We saved you a pizza."

"A whole pizza?"

"Yeah."

Peter chuckled quietly, kissing Matt's chest and shifting, settling onto his back and holding Matt's hand around his waist. "You know me too well."

"And you play me like a damn violin." Matt grinned, kissing Peter's ear. "'Can I get a hug', I can't believe that worked."

"That's because you're a sucker for the victim thing." Peter turned, kissing Matt's cheek so Matt could feel his mouth turn up in a wry smile. Peter lips were dry from sleeping with his mouth open, though he habitually ran his tongue over them before kissing Matt's chin.

Matt let himself laugh, running his hand over Peter's stomach before resting between his legs, over his boxers. The touch was less sexual and more protective, squeezing gently without the intention of turning Peter on. "Don't push me away next time," he breathed, kissing Peter's mouth. "Especially with Bullseye. Talk to me."

"I'll try," Peter promised.

"And please, don't leave me hanging like that." Matt nudged Peter's cheek with his nose, bit his ear, gently massaging Peter through his boxers. "I don't like not knowing why you won't let me touch you."

Peter raised a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers over Matt's cheek. His skin was soft there, completely different from the roughness of his palms and pads of his fingers, and Matt turned to kiss them, running his tongue up one like a second thought. Peter never put his fingers in Matt's mouth; his tongue and the roof of his mouth were too sensitive.

"I'm sorry," Peter breathed, kissing Matt's jaw, his warm hand sliding back to tangle in Matt's hair. Matt tipped his head, catching Peter's mouth. The kisses were long and slow, easy, and Matt idly wished he could spend the rest of his life right here. Life would be so much simpler that way.

Gradually, Matt pushed his hand underneath Peter's boxers, grasping his cock gently. Peter moaned quietly into his mouth, tugging on his hair while Matt stroked slowly, Peter's pulse against his fingers. Matt could feel Peter hardening gradually, the affectionate, protective touches sliding easily into something more sexual.

Nuzzling Matt, Peter brushed his lips over Matt's cheek, his nose, anywhere but his mouth, murmuring, "When all this clears up, we're going to carve out a couple of hours one night and just..." He paused to draw in a slow breath, maybe to work up the guts for what he wanted to say---or more likely because Matt's hand on his cock was warm and comfortable. "..._fuck_."

"Mm? And just what?" Matt asked, kissing Peter's ear.

"No, that was it. Fuck. Might even do it without hurting my ass while we're at it." Matt could feel Peter's grin against his jaw and turned to kiss Peter's mouth.

He let the kiss linger thoughtfully before: "...Pete."

"Hm?"

"Did you ever think about..." Matt paused, trying to find the right word, running his hand over the head of Peter's cock. "...being tied up?"

"...What?"

Immediately feeling kind of foolish for asking, Matt kissed Peter's cheek, composing himself. "Well. Considering. Your webbing, my billy club. We're a big bondage joke, Pete."

Peter snickered, rocking his hips into Matt's hand; Matt squeezed gently, and he could hear from Peter's heartbeat that he was intrigued, at the very least. "...I don't see why not. Sounds fun."

Matt sighed in relief. At least Peter hadn't said _no_. Matt grinned, pressing kisses down Peter's neck. "I've always wondered," he admitted, "what it would be like to tie you down. You're always webbing people to everything. You don't have it turned against you much, do you?"

Peter thought for a moment. "Not really."

"Mm. Could use the billy club---or, hell, your webbing, if you could manage it. Get your hands behind your back, or tie you to the bed post." The words were strange on his tongue, but the way Peter's breath hitched encouraged him. Matt had been tied up himself before, but ... well, the idea of doing this with Peter---with _Spider-Man_---was completely new. He groaned against Peter's neck, imagining the way Peter's heart would sound when he realized he couldn't touch, how his hips would buck up, trying to get Matt's attention because he couldn't reach over and grab his arm or touch his cheek to guide him. "Maybe even a blindfold, what do you think? You'd have to rely _completely_ on your ears and your sense of touch---and your mouth, if I let you. You wouldn't have to do a thing. Just let me touch you and talk to you." The hand between Peter's legs was stroking harder now without Matt realizing he was doing it, making Peter shift as much as his bruises would let him, burying his nose against Matt's hair.

"And you wouldn't be----_mm_---get bored with that?" Peter asked, only half of his attention on actually talking; Matt's hand was thoroughly distracting him, though he seemed to like it when Matt spoke.

"_God_, no," Matt replied with a breathy moan. "I would have your heart to listen to, the way you breathe---you never shut up, I'm sure you'll be begging me to do things to you. To touch you a certain way or kiss you somewhere. How could I get bored?"

It was then that Peter came with a groan, his hand tightening almost painfully in Matt's hair, tugging him back a bit. Matt let him, waiting until Peter relaxed and let go of his hair before pulling his hand away, wiping it on Peter's boxers before moving down to tug them off, cleaning Peter with his own underwear before tossing them on the floor. He didn't need to sleep in clothes; their bed was warm.

Peter leaned over to tenderly kiss Matt's mouth, nuzzling gently. "So. We'll do that," he breathed. "As soon as the bruises clear up, we'll do that. I like that blindfold idea."

Matt grinned, pressing up against Peter's shoulder and resting his hand over the left side of Peter's chest, careful to avoid the wound through his shoulder. "Good. Then we'll try it." Leaning over, he kissed Peter's neck one last time before settling down and adding, softly, "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't made it, Peter."

The sudden change of subject caught Peter off-guard, and he hesitated before stroking Matt's hair, resting his cheek on the top of Matt's head. He opened his mouth, briefly, and then seemed to think better of whatever he'd wanted to say. "I'm right here," he decided on, kissing Matt's forehead.

"I know."


	18. Don't Try This At Home

By Monday, he'd healed pretty well. The wounds were deep, would still need another few days, and that burn would linger, but he could move a bit faster now. He was still _sore_, but he could function.

And now, he was functioning in the principal's office before going to his classroom.

Principal Kim was nice enough. A little on the short side, balding. He was relatively new, had only been in New York for a year or two, still getting used to all the _weird_ things that tended to happen. The office was decorated with the usual things---pictures of his family, his diploma and degrees---as well as a rather sizable collection of paper airplanes in all different colors and shapes. Not that Peter had a problem with paper airplanes, but it was kind of weird.

And now, Kim was frowning, looking at the bandages on Peter's face worriedly. "Pete, I really ... ---Are you doing all right?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, smiling reassuringly. He played the victim surprisingly well, looking appropriately traumatized. "I'm all right. Lots of sleep."

"And ... this?" Kim touched his own cheek there the bandage covered Peter's. "What happened?"

Peter swallowed hard, gently fingering the patch and flinching. "I, um. Ran into some trouble, after I left."

The principal gasped---like Peter had just told him he'd contracted cancer or, you know, stalked by a psychopathic professional assassin. "Are you---"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm okay." Gently, as if Kim was the one who needed comforting. "I should've seen it coming; I mean, professional assassin giving a guy a _bloody nose_? Didn't really jive. But I'm okay. Spider-Man stepped in. It pays to be in with old webhead sometimes." Judging by Kim's expression, he was assuming the worst, and Peter wasn't going to correct him.

"I had no idea," Kim breathed, shaking his head. "But you're all right, and ... and we have to talk, Peter. I don't want to have to do this, but I don't have a choice at this point."

Peter shifted uncomfortably, wondering if that feeling in his stomach was dread or the result of leftover Chinese food.

"I have to---I have to request that you don't reapply for next year, Pete."

Peter straightened, like that came as a shock. And it _did_; it shouldn't have, but it did. "What?"

"This thing with the _Globe_ and Daredevil, Bullseye showing up. If it didn't make such an impact, I wouldn't be doing this, but ... there was a professional assassin in our school. Looking for _you_." Kim said it softly, reluctantly, and wouldn't look Peter in the face. "I know it's not your fault that he came here, but I cannot ignore this. I _am_ sorry. Parents are threatening to pull their kids out of our system; they don't feel safe with you here."

Peter nodded, numb. "I understand. I do. Thank you, for doing it in person instead of ... a pink slip or a letter or something."

"It's the least I can do. Please, enjoy your last week." Coming from anyone else, it would have been vindictive, but Kim sounded so sincere Peter couldn't be mad.

"I will. Thanks." Peter pushed himself out of the chair, giving Kim a tight smile before walking out, calmly---until he was into the hall, where he made a break for the teachers' bathroom. He felt like he was going to _throw up_, and while he was pretty good at telling the real deal from a threat as far as that went, he still wanted to be over a sink. Just in case.

He planted his hands on either side of the first sink he reached, finding that he was shaking harder than he'd thought, that he couldn't _breathe_. Fired. He'd just been _fired_. Crap. Crap.

"_Shit._ Shit shit shit." Peter squeezed his eyes closed. He hadn't been fire outright, but being asked not to apply again was the same basic concept, Kim wasn't going to throw him out a week before school ended. It wasn't fair, this wasn't his _fault_, he hadn't taken the picture or pointed a gun at anybody. He'd just been there. Wrong place, wrong time.

If it weren't for Matt, none of this would be happening. He felt incredibly guilty thinking it, sick admitting it was true. If Matt hadn't insisted on leaning over and kissing him, if Matt would just _back the hell off_ in public, there would be nothing to take pictures _of_, the bastard. And then that thing with _Bullseye_. It was unfair to blame Matt for that, he hadn't given Bullseye the address and said here, go get him, have a gun, he leaves his classroom window open. Maybe Bullseye would've taken notice of Peter without Matt. It was bound to happen eventually, right?

...Yeah, eventually. But not right now. Not last Friday. Not in front of innocent students.

"What the hell am I doing?" he breathed, resting his forehead on the mirror, rather than looking up at himself. "What am I _doing_ here?" He wanted to go home; he should've swallowed his pride, moved back in with Aunt May. Good, supportive Aunt May, who'd accepted Matt without so much as blinking. She'd know the right thing to say right now, if she knew all the details. If the details didn't give her a heart attack.

It was embarrassing, but Peter just wanted to run home to his aunt. Forget all this ever happened, that he'd ever said yes to moving in. But ... well, _shit_. Matt had him put on the lease. All his stuff was there. And ... and he didn't _want_ to leave Matt. Matt made him feel safe. Secure. _Wanted_---something he desperately needed right now.

"It's just a road bump. Relationships have road bumps, you knew it was dangerous. You can take it." Peter looked up, looked at himself in the mirror, right in the eye. "Where else are you going to find someone like Matt Murdock, anyway? He wants you. He _cares_ about you. It's not like he meant for this to happen. You'll just have to find somewhere else to work, that's all. This isn't the only school in the city. You didn't expect it to be easy, right? It's just a job, you can get another one."

But he was still _shaking_, and he couldn't look at himself for very long. Couldn't stand watching the face across from him beg for the right answers. Maybe some magical superhero fairy that pulled solutions out of a hat. He had one obvious option, but what good would running away do now? He'd already lost his job. He was already in trouble. Taking Matt away from himself would do more than break Matt---it would break Peter, too.

He heard the bell ring out in the hall, the flurry of movement and footsteps and voices and knew he had to move. He couldn't stay in the bathroom all morning like that. Come on, Peter, stand up straight. Take it like a man. Buck up, son, that was what Uncle Ben would have said. Can't change it now.

Peter looked back up, back into the face that demanded answers, and turned away. His hand was on the doorknob before he rushed back, like he'd expected the face to be gone by the time he came back and said, "You have to face the music, Parker. You chose the CD, now go out there and sing along with it. People may throw rotten fruit at you, but you can't pretend that's anything new."

Taking his own speech to heart, Peter nodded to himself and went to open the door.

* * *

The rest of the week went far too fast. School was finishing, he had to watch over a couple final exams. Peter largely let the students do what they wanted after their tests, watched them huddle up in groups and plan what they would do with their last days. Some in the sixth period bio class were still shaken from the Friday before, some asked if Peter was okay, but for the most part, they liked to pretend it didn't happen---at least, in front of their teacher. It was something they would share for the rest of their lives, even if they never spoke of it.

Matt was being more affectionate and attentive than usual, making up for the weeks they'd lost to Peter's nerves over Bullseye. He'd made Peter promise to lay off of Spider-Man until he was healed, and after the sixth or seventh time Matt had insisted, Peter had agreed to stay home until he was better, leaving him alone when Matt left to be Daredevil. By Friday, he was almost fully healed, leaving nothing but bruises, some worse than others.

He was sad, to see the week end. His last day at Midtown High. He'd miss the place, no doubt about that. But it was for the best. They'd have to find a different science teacher, but they would make due. Someone else would need him, somewhere, maybe he would check out school in Clinton, instead, closer to home. It had gotten around somehow that Peter wouldn't be coming back, but nobody talked about it.

Except one.

His name was Jordan Harrison. He was short, a little awkward, and passionate about biology. Peter didn't have favorites (or, he liked to say he didn't), but he had a soft spot for Jordan. And now, he was standing on front of Peter's desk while Peter packed his papers for the last time, lagging despite the fact that the bell had rung for seventh.

"Are you really leaving?" he blurted. Peter stared at him for a moment, looking down at Jordan before he nodded.

"Yeah, I am."

"Yeah, but." Jordan grimaced. "Ngh. I mean, did Kim fire you because Bullseye punched you in the face? Because that's not _fair_."

"_Mr._ Kim," Peter corrected. "I'm just not reapplying next year. I'll probably go somewhere in Clinton. They need more science teachers."

"_We_ need science teachers." Jordan huffed, shoving short brown hair out of his face. "I mean, I don't really care about the other kids. I'm gonna be honest. They don't really care about chem or physics or any of that, most of them won't even _make it_ to physics. But I actually _need_ this stuff, you know? Maybe that's really selfish, but _I_ need a good teacher, or I'll make it to college with nothing but an affinity for squishy sea animals. If I even _get_ to college. I can't get stuck here with some earth science nobody who teaches out of the book, you know what I'm saying?"

Peter frowned, listening to all this. Wishing he could put everything down and promise Jordan he would fix everything, he could stay and make sure he got what he needed. A kid like Jordan would need physics, he'd need a decent teacher when he was a senior taking college biology, someone who knew what they were talking about. Jordan reminded him of himself, younger than his classmates, the nerd who always had the answer; Jordan might not have been a genius the way Peter was, but he had the drive to make up for it. Drive was important, but a bad teacher could waste it.

Instead, he said, "Maybe you'll get lucky. You never know." Peter didn't believe himself---and neither did Jordan.

"This sucks."

"...Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"Will you tutor me?" Jordan blurted. "I mean, if you won't be here. Can't you?"

Peter hesitated, opening his mouth, closing it. "...Hn. I'll think about it. I will _think_ about it, all right? Don't be disappointed if I can't."

"Okay." That seemed to satisfy him, and he half turned, ready to go, before turning back, asking, "Is Mr. Murdock all right?"

"Is he...? Yeah, he's fine, why?"

"Mom said he wasn't at work last Saturday. I thought maybe, you know, Bullseye went for him too or something."

Peter cocked an eyebrow. "Wait, how does your mom know him?"

"Oh. She's a paralegal in the firm." Jordan grinned, shrugging apologetically. "Says Mr. Murdock's gone a lot but she was worried about last weekend but that's it's kind of rude to ask him directly." Like it was _less_ rude to ask his boyfriend, instead.

Peter snorted. "Yeah, he's perfectly fine. He took a sick day to stay with me."

"Mom doesn't care, by the way. If he's gay or whatever," Jordan added. "Or if you're gay. She didn't call in or anything. She likes you, likes Mr. Murdock, and thinks it's all really stupid to be raising a fuss about it." He stood up a little straighter when he said that, obviously reciting it nearly verbatim, even raising his voice a little bit to imitate his mother.

Laughing, Peter shook his head. "Your mom sounds like a great lady. You tell her to call me and we'll see if we can swing tutoring next year, all right?"

"All right. I'll see you around, Mr. P."

"You, too, kid. Have a great summer."

* * *

By Sunday, Peter felt _good_. Good enough to have put on the suit and swung around the city. Instead, he went shopping. (Hey, superheroes needed groceries, too.) Returning home from the store bearing milk, eggs, and other household essentials, he found Matt hanging out in the kitchen, running his fingers over the Sunday paper.

He raised his head as Peter put the groceries away, running his hand down Peter's back when he was close enough. "Hey, you got a call while you were out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. From Lydia Harrison, about tutoring? I didn't know Lydia had a kid."

"Lydia...? _Oh._ Right." He'd forgotten that Jordan's mother worked for Matt for a second there. "I told Jordan we'd talk about chemistry tutoring next year. She leave a number?"

"Of course. I wrote it down for you."

"Thanks." Peter kissed Matt briefly on the cheek before moving over to the phone. The pad beside it had a number messily scribbled on it; Matt didn't often write, for obvious reasons, but he _could_. The numbers were spaced oddly, never in a straight line, some bigger than others. It made Peter's handwriting look like calligraphy. He picked up the phone, dialing slowly, squinting to make sure he was getting the numbers right and sighing in relief when Lydia picked up.

He idly scribbled on the pad of paper while he spoke to her, rewriting the phone number and telling her that he'd do what he could, it depended on what happened with getting a new school and how many sections he would be teaching. When he hung the phone up, he felt Matt come up behind him, chest against Peter's back.

"How do you feel?" Matt asked, kissing his ear. Peter _grinned_.

"Great."

That was all it took; a second later, Matt was covering Peter's eyes with a blindfold, kissing his hair when he tied the knot. "Good." Peter's heart skipped a beat, reaching back to touch Matt, leaning into Matt's hand when he touched Peter's face, fingers brushing over his mouth.

"Do you trust me?" Matt breathed, mouth against the back of Peter's neck.

"With my life." Peter tipped his head to the side, exposing more of his neck while Matt kissed. The blindfold was soft, effectively blocking most of the light in the room. He let his eyes drift closed.

"And you'll do what I tell you?"

Peter shuddered and hesitated, just for a moment. It was just sex. It wasn't like he was handing control over for the rest of his life, here. But Matt would never hurt him. Matt traced Peter's mouth while he thought, running his fingers over Peter's lower lip, slipping in when Peter opened his mouth to answer; Peter touched pads of Matt's fingers with his tongue, sucking for a moment. "Sure. Why not." The concept was actually kind of _hot_, once he got over his paranoia. Giving up control, letting Matt take the reins---Peter was usually game for being a bit rougher than usual, but he didn't want to put Matt in any pain, so he didn't tend to ask.

Matt sighed against the back of his neck, tipping his head up to bite Peter's ear, gently smacking his cheek---just enough to make a sound, more of a touch than an actual _strike_. "I don't want you to do anything to me unless I tell you to. And that means no talking, if you think you can handle that. Can you?"

Peter couldn't help but think they were missing something here, but he brushed the feeling off. They would be perfectly safe. He trusted Matt. Smacking Peter around would hardly hurt him, and he found he ... kind of liked it. "Try everything once."

"Good boy." Matt gave Peter an affectionate smack on the ass, kissing his cheek. "Are your eyes closed?"

"Hm? No."

"Don't close them," Matt murmured, pushing up Peter's shirt, easing it up over his head and tossing it aside. "I don't walk around with my eyes closed. The blindfold will keep it dark, but don't close your eyes. I want you to know how I feel."

Peter opened his eyes, unsure of exactly how Matt would tell the difference. It was a little unnerving, being in the dark with his eyes open; it forced him to hone in on Matt's hands moving down his body, Matt's mouth against his neck, waiting for what he was going to do next. It was a little scary, but _thrilling_. This was normally where they'd joke around, but they were left with the sound of Matt's breathing without Peter's chatter to fill the air.

"Come here." Still pressed against Peter, Matt nudged him into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The sound of the door closing made Peter wince. "Window's closed, too," Matt hissed, biting his ear. "You're stuck here, Spidey."

Peter habitually opened his mouth to reply---and was met with another smack, this one just a bit harder than the last.

"I was serious about that not talking thing." Matt's voice was playful, but Peter could tell he _meant_ it. All right. Peter could play at that game. "You go sit up against the post at the foot of the bed. Try not to trip."

And then Matt was gone. Peter could hear him moving around the room, shuffling through something---probably the closet---and he made his way over to the bed, feeling it out before sinking down, shifting when Matt paused to say, "On your knees. Make sure you're naked by the time I get there." Peter slid his pants and boxers off, getting a kick out of Matt actually being _bossy_. Or, rather, letting Matt be bossy. Having his legs curled under him and resting against the post wasn't uncomfortable, either; he'd sat in worse positions for longer.

When Matt came back, he tapped Peter's cheek with what he'd pulled out---his billy club. Peter sucked in a breath, wary of the club and then scolding himself. A weapon was only as dangerous as the person holding it. Still, he would swear her heard Matt's breath hitch. He'd noticed.

"Hands behind your back, Parker." Matt crouched, kissing Peter firmly on the mouth while he cracked the club in two, reaching behind Peter to tie his hands, pushing his tongue into Peter's mouth. He _groaned_ when Peter automatically sucked, pulling the cord a bit tight for comfort and shuddering when it made Peter moan sharply.

Suddenly feeling very vulnerable, Peter instinctively leaned forward, trying to get closer to Matt. He was more aware than before of his nakedness, knowing Matt was still dressed, and of his erection, completely exposed to the air. Matt's reaction was to reach down and push his thighs apart even further, completely avoiding his cock, even as Peter arched his hips up in an attempt to catch Matt's attention.

"I know," Matt assured him, gently mocking while he kissed down Peter's neck. "I know it's there. I can hear you pulling on the cord; careful you don't break the bed. My God, your heart is racing." Matt dropped down to kiss the left side of Peter's chest before going even further to bite his nipple, eliciting a shocked grunt that was surprisingly aroused---even to Peter. "Hn. Interesting."

With that bit of nonverbal encouragement, Matt stayed there, giving Peter little bites and licks before moving over to the other nipple. Peter liked it more than he'd _thought_ he would, and his heartbeat must have given him away, let Matt know it was all right to suck until it was almost painful and not be too careful when he used his teeth. He was _hard_, made worse by the fact that his bucking and twisting wasn't making Matt reach down and _touch_ him. Under other circumstances, Peter would have just _told_ Matt what he wanted, but he knew if he opened his mouth again, Matt would smack him.

...Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but he didn't want to whine about an erection, you know?

"It's not all about you," Matt hissed, and Peter winced at the unexpected aggression, but chalked it up to being part of the game. "You can wait. I'm going to let your cock hang out for a bit, let you see how it feels to have that nice, uncomfortable hard-on." Matt kissed his cheek---a little gesture that seemed to assure Peter he was just playing. "I like the way your heart sounds when you want something."

With that, Matt was getting up, leaving Peter to feel rather _alone_. Matt was silent, wherever he was and whatever he was doing. Honestly, he was probably just standing to the side. Listening to Peter's erratic breathing and straining against the billy club. Peter whined under his breath.

That must have caught Matt's attention, because a moment later, there was another smack, stronger than the last one. "Don't whine, Pete." A hand smoothed Peter's hair, comforting and affectionate after the smack. "Tell me what you want; I'll let you talk."

Peter considered pleading with Matt to touch him, knew that was probably what he _wanted_. Instead, he said, "I want your cock in my mouth. I need to suck your cock, Matt." It was a relief to open his mouth and talk, made even better when Matt sucked in a breath. He hadn't expected that.

"Is _that_ what you want?" Peter could hear Matt unzipping his pants, pushing them down; the next time Matt touched him, it was with his cock, brushing the head over Peter's mouth. Peter opened his mouth, barely getting the chance to touch the tip of Matt's cock with his tongue before he was being pushed back by his hair. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

Matt tugged painfully on his hair, making Peter gasp. "You heard the question."

"Why do I want to suck your cock? I want to make you feel good." When Matt let go of his hair, Peter leaned forward, trying to find Matt's cock with his mouth. Still talking, knowing Matt got off on it. "Want you to fuck my mouth until you come---"

For whatever reason, _that_ seemed to agitated Matt, earning Peter another _smack_. "You'd want that, wouldn't you? Make me come, maybe I'll be so grateful you deigned to put your mouth on my cock I'll touch you. You know what that does to me; _I'm_ in charge, here. You're the one tied up, not giving orders."

...Woah. Okay. _Now_, Peter was a little confused. "...What?"

Peter could hear Matt zipping up his pants again, snapping, "You know what I'm talking about. You always have to be pulling the strings, don't you? Just because you have powers and you've been prancing around in tights longer---"

"Matt, what the _hell_?" Peter interrupted. "I---"

His spider senses kicked in an instant before Matt backhanded him. _Hard._ Normally that would have been enough time to dodge. Normally.

There was a moment of tense silence, the only sounds in the room of their breathing---Matt's angry and Peter's _shocked_. It lasted for what felt like forever, Peter's heart racing with genuine _fear_. Like he'd just realized he'd let a violent, dangerous vigilante tie him up and smack him around.

"...You---"

"Shut up."

"Matt---"

"I said, shut up---"

"I heard you---"

"Then _stop talking_!" It was punctuated with another blow, this time an actual punch---which was about when Peter saw stars and decided:

"We're done." Before Matt could hit him again, Peter twisted, shoving him back with a foot. He heard Matt stumble and hit the dresser, struggling to untie himself before Matt recovered. Whatever the _fuck_ had just happened, Peter didn't want to stick around and wait for Matt to decide to beat him with the _lamp_ or something. He was officially _freaked out_. Matt had never been so blatantly _cruel_ before, at least not to the point of hitting him, and if that was all it took to make him start throwing punches, Peter wasn't sure he wanted to see Matt mad about something _big_.

Instead, he heard Matt drop down in front of him, muttering, "Oh my God, oh my God, I am so sorry." Like something in Matt had just ... flipped off, like a switch, and he was pulling down the blindfold.

Peter stopped struggling when he saw the look on Matt's face---desperate, pleading, looking almost like he would cry. "Matt...?"

"I am so sorry," Matt repeated, leaning against Peter, kissing his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I just---I got carried away, I am _so sorry_, I didn't mean to---"

Peter frowned, torn between being pissed off and ... feeling sorry. He arched his neck, nuzzling Matt as best he could. "Shhh. Shh, it's fine. It's nothing I couldn't handle." When in doubt, make excuses. "Shh." Something was obviously _wrong_ with Matt, but ... first, he needed to calm down. Peter was too absorbed in trying to get Matt to stop _shaking_; Matt upset was more scary than Matt trying to beat on him.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away; I never wanted to hurt you, but something just went through my head and I ... I lost control. Please don't leave me."

"What?" Peter blinked.

"Don't leave me," Matt pleaded, moving as if trying to curl around him. "That won't happen again, I got angry for some stupid reason, we just won't do this anymore---"

"Hush. I'm not leaving. --I can't, you've got me tied up," Peter joked, forcing the humor rather than admit he was _scared_. The sudden switch was _jarring_, Matt's reaction distracting him from really thinking over what had just happened.

Instead of cheering him up, it made Matt jump, repeating his apology again and reaching around to untie him. As soon as his hands were free, Peter put his arms around Matt, smoothing his hair back.

"Come on, relax. It was a little mistake." Yeah, a little _violent_ mistake. But Peter held him, rocking gently, like he could protect Matt, even when what had him so scared and shaken was _himself_."Shhh. Shh, I'm not going anywhere."

And oddly enough, Peter was shocked by how much he meant it.

* * *

They'd gone to bed the night before without trying to repair the attempt at sex. It was just better for both of them. Instead, Matt fell asleep practically laying on Peter, uncomfortable unless Peter was touching him. They didn't talk about what had happened, other than Peter shushing him and assuring him it was all okay. Sometimes it was true, sometimes it wasn't, but Matt let him lie. For once, it took Peter longer to sleep than Matt, up thinking over everything Matt had said when he was angry. Matt was like a drunk person when he was mad: he said exactly what he meant, and he'd said a _lot_.

Matt woke up before Peter did, and by the time Peter was wandering out of bed and into the bathroom, Matt was in the shower.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"You sleep okay?" He heard Matt pause behind the curtain.

"Yeah. Slept fine." Peter reached up, wiping off the mirror while Matt turned off the water---and flinched. A bruise bloomed across his cheek from where Matt had punched him. Damn it. And he'd forgotten all about last night until just now. "Well god damn."

"What? What damn?" Matt stepped out of the shower, reaching for his towel.

"You really _got me_." Peter sounded somewhere between pissed and kind of impressed, shoving any new thoughts to the back of his head. He wasn't ready to deal with those just yet. "_Damn._" He poked the bruise, hissed.

"Oh, God. How bad?" Matt secured the towel around his waist and went over, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder---tense, like he was nervous Peter would shrug him off.

He didn't. He stared at the mirror instead. "Shit, man."

"I'm sorry. It won't---"

"---happen again? Yeah, I know, you spent three hours last night telling me that. But if it does, I'll kick your ass, you know that, right?" Peter glanced back, saw Matt nod solemnly.

"You want some ice for that?"

"Nah. I'll be fine. But, you know. Next time, ass kicking."

Matt frowned. "Why aren't you more pissed about this? If I got anyone else like that, they'd have been out the door _last night_, what the hell is wrong with you?" Grateful, but ultimately questioning Peter's _sanity_.

Peter shrugged. It was more of a big deal than he was letting it be, but he had a lot to think about, before he turned this into A Discussion. He was certain of only two things---and one was that he'd forgiven Matt the night before.

"It was a little slip up. Neither of us thought that would happen," Peter explained calmly. "I should've thought ahead. I think we messed up, too, skipped some steps. It wasn't as safe as it should've been. We'll do better next time, if there is a next time."

"God _damn it_, Peter! You're touched in the head, aren't you? I _punched you_. Your face is _bruised_ because I couldn't control myself long enough to have some _fun_, and you're _staying_?" Matt had clearly expected a fight, some kind of opposition. _Something_. He must have been gearing himself up for the confrontation---and now he found himself in a weird position without it.

"Well ... yeah." Peter paused. Hesitated, and then: "I love you. We'll work it out."

"...What?"

"We'll work it out."

"No, stupid, the part before that."

"...I love you?"

"That part."

Peter swallowed hard. Shrugged. "Yeah, well. You know. I do. So we'll work it out. But, I mean, you're totally screwed if you hit me again, so don't make a habit of it." Also, you're clearly kind of screwed up in the head and I'm afraid to leave you to your own devices at this point.

Matt shook his head and laughed---probably so he didn't start banging his head on a wall or something. "You're _insane_."

"You and me both, Matty. Don't let it go to your head."


	19. Deny Deny Deny

Despite living there, Peter tended to leave Hell's Kitchen to Matt, instead. When they ran into each other, it was near the end of the night as Peter swung back home. Like tonight, as he dropped down on a rooftop carrying a bag of take out food. Matt turned toward Peter, sniffing the air and grinning.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"The best pizza in New York shoved into a paper bag? You bet it is. Come here."

They set up shop on the side of the building, Peter holding himself to the wall with his feet and Matt half-curled up on the outstretched head of a gargoyle. They didn't usually have time to sit around a table and eat dinner, but this was practically the same thing. It was comfortable here, close but not too close. Ever since Matt had lost control and given Peter a good _right hook_, they'd been cautious. Matt didn't come too close and Peter didn't often invite him. The bruise had completely faded the other day, but there was still that tense feeling, despite Peter's constant assurances that everything would be fine.

"---and that Clinton school hasn't called me back yet," Peter was saying, swallowing a piece of pepperoni. "Not that I blame them, Kim had a pretty good reason for asking me not to come back."

"I'm telling you, Peter, you could sue him for that." Matt frowned.

"Matt, I'm not going to sue someone I agree with."

"_What_?" Matt's mouth dropped out, incredulous. "You think it's a good thing he fired you?"

"With all the dust I was kicking up? Yeah. I don't blame him, maybe I would've done that, too. It's all right, I'll find another job. And Lydia's going to call me tomorrow about tutoring Jordan we'll be... Matt?"

"Hush." Matt had his head raised, jerking to one side and turning. Listening to something too quiet for Peter to pick up on. Without a word to Peter, Matt set down his food and vaulted off the gargoyle.

"Hey!" Peter immediately jumped after him, following Matt as he landed hard on a fire escape and instantly began to pry up a window. "Matt, what the---"

As soon as the window opened, Peter could hear it: the sound of skin hitting skin, a kid crying, an adult shouting insults. After that, Peter crawled in right behind Matt. This was breaking and entering and really illegal, but so was beating a kid, so ... too bad. It was heartbreaking to listen to the boy crying for his father to _stop_.

On the upside, their shouting meant the father didn't hear Daredevil or Spider-Man coming. At all. He wasn't a big man, but he was stocky, gang tattoos threading up his arms, though Peter couldn't tell what they were when he was moving, repeatedly striking his son in the back until Matt _shoved_ him. There was no discussion between them; Matt immediately went for the father, shoving him up against the wall, while Peter dropped down to the kid.

"Hey---hey, kiddo, shh, I won't hurt you." He couldn't have been more than eight or nine, and when he looked up, he gaped.

"Spider-Man!" he said, hushed, scared that raising his voice would draw the attention of his father. His face was wet with tears and he was shaking, letting Peter pull him closer. "What---" The kid twisted, gasping when he saw his father pinned to the wall by _Daredevil_, flinching back when Matt took a break in his enraged growling to punch him hard in the stomach.

"Don't look," Peter said, pulling him even closer and covering the side of his face with his hand, shielding his eyes. Matt didn't take well to people who hurt their kids, and he was more than proving it, the punch turning into a beating. Matt had given up on yelling, and for a minute, the only sounds in the room were the man's grunts of pain and the kid's whimpering, hearing every punch, every blow, scared instead of feeling protected. "Just don't look. Here, come on---"

Standing, he pulled the boy up with him, moving away and keeping his hand over the kid's face, breathing, "Does your dad hurt you a lot?"

The kid nodded reluctantly, clinging to Peter.

"Where's your mom?"

"Don't know."

"How about family? You have any other family?"

"No."

Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing. That made it a whole lot _worse_; there was nowhere to bring him, other than to the police. "I'll make sure you're safe, all right?" Peter promised. "We'll get you out of here."

The boy didn't respond, except to shake some more. In the other room, the sound of the beating stopped, accompanied by the sounds of Matt's footsteps coming closer. When Daredevil stepped into the room, the kid turned away and buried his face against Peter's chest. "_No._"

"No what, kiddo?"

"Him."

"Him...?" Peter looked up at Matt---and then it hit him. _Oh._ Matt was pretty scary, when he thought about it, decked out in red leather and horns with blood on his hands. From the way he'd reacted, the kid trusted Spider-Man, enough to use him as protection against the devil that had wandered into his home.

Matt took a careful step forward, saying softly, "I'm not the bad guy, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"_No._"

Peter shifted the kid's weight while Matt frowned. "I'll handle this, Hornhead. You head home."

"But---"

"Please."

Matt reluctantly nodded, going ahead of Peter and out the window. Peter didn't look to see what had become of the kid's dad---for the boy, of course. For the kid. That was what he told himself.

* * *

By the time Peter got home, it was later than usual, and he was surprised to find that Matt had waited up for him. Matt tended to crash right after being Daredevil, but he'd changed out of his suit and was on the couch when Peter got back, standing when he crawled through the window.

"Hey..." Peter tugged off his mask, frowning. "You okay? It's late."

"I'm fine." Matt didn't move in to touch him, and Peter didn't invite it. It left an uncomfortable space between them, and when Matt didn't saying anything else, Peter turned to head to the bathroom.

"Need a shower," he muttered, stripping out of his suit on the way and leaving it on the floor. He'd pick it up later. Peter felt grungy, but ultimately satisfied; he'd taken the kid to a hospital to be patched up and looked after, though it had taken a while to pry him off of Spider-Man. He wondered what would happen, but ... there was only so much Spider-Man could do. New York had to be trusted to take care of its own, now.

Ten minutes into his shower, Matt gently opened the door, slipping in quietly. "Hey, Pete?"

Peter ran his hands through his hair, sifting out traces of shampoo. "Hm? You okay? You need something?"

"You mind company?"

Peter hesitated, bit his lip, but said, "Nah. Come on in."

Matt was nearly silent undressing, stepping into the shower cautiously, as if Peter would change his mind any second. Peter reached back, gently touching Matt's hip. Taking that as an invitation, Matt stepped in, sliding his arms around Peter's waist, pausing just before settling to make sure Peter wasn't going to push him away. When he didn't, Matt let his grip tighten a little, holding Peter to his chest and resting his head on Peter's shoulder.

"How's the kid?" Matt murmured.

"He's okay. Dazed and tired, and he'll start wondering about his dad in the morning, but ... okay. I think. I like to think." Peter gently kissed the side of Matt's head, closing his eyes against the water. "...His father's _alive_, right?"

Matt frowned. "Of course he is."

"By how much?"

"He'll be fine."

"Just checking." You know. Because he'd feel bad not asking. "You can get pretty brutal, you know."

Matt pulled back a bit, tilting his head to the side before abruptly asking, "Are you afraid of me?"

Peter opened his eyes to stare for a second---and then he _laughed_. "Of course not." Much. "If I were afraid, I wouldn't be here. I can take care of myself; I'm a big girl, I tie my own sandles and everything."

"You have got to stop quoting Disney."

"I can't believe you _saw_ that movie."

"Technically speaking----"

"Blah blah, blind man joke, I know."

"But, Peter. Seriously." Matt nudged the side of Peter's head with his nose. "Are you?"

Peter frowned, turning his head up to face Matt before forgetting that eye contact was pretty useless. "It happened _once_, Matt. Let it go," he pleaded. "We're past it."

"So past it you still don't like being touched?" Matt raised an eyebrow. They'd been together for months and Peter still hadn't gotten over that 'are you kidding me?' face Matt made. Matt's expressions were always so _honest_---mostly because he didn't know how to be any other way, really.

Peter snorted lightly, kissed Matt's cheek. "You're touching me right now," he reminded Matt, nuzzling gently. Just let it go, Matt. Please.

"Peter---"

"Shut up."

Either Matt listened or he was too shocked by Peter telling someone else to 'shut up', but whatever it was, it made him quiet down long enough for Peter to kiss him firmly on the mouth. It swallowed whatever protests Matt had and he melted into it with a little moan instead, bringing a hand up to tangle in Peter's wet hair. It had been a little over a week since Peter had kissed Matt like this, but it felt more like a year, sitting on the edges of Peter's personal space and hoping to be invited back in.

Peter turned, facing Matt so he wouldn't have to crane his neck, heart heavy and pounding in his ears (or was that the water against the side of the tub?). It was late, they were tired, but Matt was there and naked and wet and---

---And pulling back, resting his hand over Peter's heart. "Pete. We have to talk about this."

"Stop worrying about it," Peter breathed, voice wavering just for an instant. "It's water over the bridge, or under the dam, or wherever the hell you want it. You don't scare me." He leaned in for another kiss, only to be stopped by Matt's hands cradling his face. Peter frowned, shifting to rest his thigh between Matt's legs.

"You're avoiding the problem," Matt said bluntly, sucking in a breath when Peter pressed in, already hardening against Peter's leg.

"I'm not mad." Peter reached up, taking Matt by the wrists and pulling his hands down. "It's too late at night for this conversation, anyway."

"Now's as good a time as---" Matt faltered when Peter reached between them to wrap his hand around his cock, sucking in another breath when he squeezed. "You're distracting me."

"I'm coming onto you." Peter kissed the side of Matt's mouth, gently stroking. "There's nothing to distract you from."

"You're doing that thing," Matt informed him, swallowing a groan. "Where you, ah..."

"Where I what?" Peter murmured, gently easing down onto his knees, kissing Matt's naval, lowering his head to brush his mouth over the base of Matt's hard on.

"Where you ignore everything I say and----ohhh, God. Never... never mind."

Peter's response is a light moan.

* * *

_"You've reached Matt Murdock, please leave a message after the beep."_

Peter _groaned_, grabbing a pillow and plopping it on top of his face just as the answering machine beeped.

_"Peter? It's Aunt May. Pick up your phone, sweetie. Peter...?"_

Peter reluctantly pushed the pillow away, rolling onto his side and groping for the phone, forcing his eyes to open. The ringing he could ignore. The message he could ignore. Aunt May? Not so much. As he grabbed for the receiver, he squinted at the clock, groaning again. Late. It was late. He'd slept in and it was late---which would have been a concern if he had a job, but he didn't go into the Bugle until the afternoon. But. Still.

"'Morning Aunt May."

_"Peter! There you are. Oh, honey, did I wake you up? You're usually up by now."_

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm fine. Slept in, that's all." Peter rubbed at his eyes, rolling onto his back to be greeted by a light kiss to his cheek before Matt shifted to accomodate, resting on his shoulder. Matt threw his leg over Peter's thighs, clearly not ready to be getting up and moving around. "What's up?"

_"I wanted to remind you to bring your laundry when you come over today."_

Peter faltered, frowning and nudging Matt, breathing, "We're supposed to go over there today?"

Matt grunted. "Who's we?"

Peter shrugged, going back to the phone. "Sure. You want me to bring anything else...?" Is it dinner? Are they supposed to go over for dinner or what?

_"Oh, no, dear. I already made dessert. You two just come on over and enjoy dinner. You both work so hard."_

At that, Peter nudged Matt. "_We_ are we, apparently. ----We'll remember that, Aunt May. Thanks. I'll see you there. ---I love you, too." He hung up, turning back to kiss Matt's forehead and groan. "And I was asleep, too."

"Ohh, I know." Matt ran a hand down Peter's chest, resting on his stomach. He shifted again when Peter turned toward him, his hand on the small of Peter's back, instead. "Poor baby."

"Speaking of which---why is it every time we do something, my ass has to hurt? Can't you ever be gentle?" He said it with an obvious affection, more jest than actual annoyance.

Matt snickered, reaching down to give Peter's rear an affectionate smack. "Because I can't get enough of your ass. Besides, you started it, don't complain."

"Yeah yeah yeah." Peter responded by pushing Matt onto his back and straddling his waist, leaning down for a kiss (to Matt's neck, of course, because ew, morning breath).

"And now you're starting it again." The edges of Matt's mouth turned up in a wry grin.

"Mmhm. I actually _slept_ last night. But---mm." He kissed Matt's collar, working his way down his chest. "Maybe next time----next time, we shouldn't start something at four in the morning, hm?"

"We? Who's we?" Matt snickered, affectionately ruffling Peter's hair. A moment later, he was relaxing back with a sigh, hand resting in Peter's hair when his tongue found its way down to Matt's cock, his mouth close behind. "Mm. And you like to complain..."

It was all very relaxing, really. Peter had found a while ago that he _liked_ going down on Matt---and to be honest, there wasn't much effort attached to it, the way Matt's senses were. Peter was content to rest between Matt's legs, gently moving up and down the length of Matt's cock, Matt's hand in his hair like an encouraging guide to go along with his happy moans---

Until someone knocked on the door. _Hard_. Peter nearly pulled away, but Matt tightened his hand in Peter's hair, keeping him down for the second it took to listen to the heartbeat. "Don't stop," he said, breath shaky. "I'm close, don't stop---"

Peter shrugged, ignoring the insistant knocking on their front door and going ... right back to what he was doing. It didn't take long for Matt to come, arching up and tugging on Peter's hair almost painfully, Peter swallowing more out of necessity than anything else, giving Matt the time he needed to relax his grip. Pulling himself up, Peter wiped at his mouth, asking, "Who's at the door?"

Matt made a face, half-heartedly swatting at Peter and mumbling, "Shut up, don't talk so loud..."

Again, more knocking, and Peter frowned. "_Matt_."

"S'Foggy, go get the _door_, god damn it." Matt practically shoved Peter off, grabbing a pillow and rolling onto his side before jamming it over his head.

Peter snorted, pushing himself out of bed and grimacing at the sore, sticky feeling between his legs. He'd ... have to shower later. Instead, he grabbed a pair of jeans and an undershirt, pulling them on before going to the door, yelling, "I'm coming! I'm coming, Jesus Christ!"

When he opened the door, he was met with a grumpy, "It's about damn _time_---" stopped short when Foggy looked up and saw ... not Matt. "Oh. Peter."

"Hi." Peter shifted his weight, self-consciously running his fingers over his mouth again, wiping them on his jeans.

"Hi." Foggy grimaced. "Where's Matt?"

"Naked," Peter said honestly, taking sick pleasure in the disgusted look on Foggy's face before chiding himself. Come on, Peter, that's mean. "I mean, naked as in sleeping and getting up and not yet dressed. Give him a few minutes."

"He'd better make them a _fast_ couple minutes. We're supposed to be in court in an hour and a half, Matt." Foggy didn't raise his voice, knowing Matt should be listening. Peter shrugged, moving aside to let Foggy in, though Foggy didn't go in further than the first few feet, stubbornly keeping his shoes and coat on and making a point of tapping his foot on the ground impatiently.

"He was up late," Peter warned. "As Daredevil. Up late as Daredevil."

Foggy raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. That's nice. We're still due in court."

"Just saying."

"Right."

It took fifteen minutes for Matt to rescue Peter and Foggy from awkward chit chat, smoothing his suit. "Okay. All right, I'm good, let's---"

"Come here," Peter interrupted, pulling Matt over and fixing his tie, completely tucking in his shirt. Foggy watched the whole exchange twitching impatiently, rolling his eyes, making a point of checking his watch. "Okay. Now you don't look like you just rolled out of bed."

"Thank you," Matt said, so sickeningly sweet and grateful Peter made a face when he leaned in to kiss his cheek. ---And then he reached down, affectionately smacking Peter on the ass before pulling away.

"Hey---!"

Foggy reached over, taking Matt by the arm and half dragging him to the door. "Come _on_, Matt, stop messing around, your boyfriend will be here when you get home."

Peter watched Foggy drag Matt away, rubbing his rear and rolling his eyes before calling, "Be back in time for dinner!"


	20. The Ex

Mary Jane Watson had a bit of a hard time in LA.

Of course, LA was a pretty nasty place, as a rule. As bad as New York, with the added touch of nasty directors just waiting for someone to walk in and tell an aspiring actress she's a piece of shit in make up. She got jobs, here and there, but in LA, MJ was a nobody. She was a nobody in New York, and she was a nobody in LA. Actors didn't take models seriously, and all they saw was a model with delusions of grandeur and acting ability. She did get a few parts, little ones that took a day to shoot, and one slightly bigger one in a little indie movie. It was what any actor was to expect when they were breaking into the business, but that didn't keep MJ from aching for Peter at the end of the day.

The divorce seemed a universe away. She'd been in LA for nearly five months. Five months since she'd made up her mind to leave Peter. Not because she didn't love him, but because it had all become too much. She'd given up so much of herself to be Peter's wife; she couldn't talk to her friends about him like her friends talked about their lovers. It was like being married to an alcoholic, a wifebeater, a serial killer. It was waiting for him to come home at night, shaking with fear, and having no one to talk to, not even May. After a while, MJ just needed to get out. It wasn't the first time she'd left, but it was the first time she'd filed for divorce.

It left her ... freer, but incredibly lonely. She emailed her sister, Gayle, and Aunt Anna, and when Gayle had a few hours to herself she would actually call. But it wasn't the same as being able to talk to Peter. Despite herself, despite her decision to leave him, despite _everything_, MJ couldn't help but think of him all the time----especially on the plane ride back to New York for an audition. Her agent had found it for her and urged her to please, please get herself back to New York as soon as possible, hoping that being the first there would make a good impression.

She was staying with Aunt Anna, but being a couple days early meant MJ had a lot of free time. Sure, being with Aunt Anna was wonderful, but May was right next door. And probably Peter, too.

Or ... so she'd guiltily hoped when she'd knocked on May's door.

When May answered, her expression went from shock to happiness in the span of a second. "Mary Jane! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, dear, I thought we'd never see you around here again."

"Hi, May." MJ moved in for a familiar hug, realizing _how much_ she'd missed May. Kind, reliable Aunt May who always knew the right thing to say. "I'm in for an audition, I thought I'd stop in."

"Good girl. You come right on in, I just finished a batch of cookies." It went without saying that they were probably for Peter, but MJ followed May in anyway. There was nothing quite like sitting in May's kitchen with cookies and milk. It was like being a kid again, protected from the real world by high school politics and afternoons with a Mom who didn't fight constantly with her alcoholic husband and scream at her kids. There were always happy smells hanging in the air, warm cookies or pie or freshly dried laundry. May insisted MJ sit and relax, and when she set down the cookies, she said, "Now tell me about this audition of yours."

For a while, MJ forgot that she'd left Peter. Forgot that she hadn't been in this house in over five months. The conversation drifted after that, to Anna and her knitting, the mayor, the newspapers, the upcoming election. Eventually, it naturally drifted to the one thing MJ should probably have avoided: Peter.

"Is he still in the old apartment...?" MJ asked cautiously.

May paused, a little surprised she'd asked, but--- "No. He told me he couldn't afford it. He has a room mate now." She decided that the sugar she was pouring into her tea was so interesting she just had to watch herself pour it in her cup.

"Oh. Really?" He was only twenty-eight, MJ reminded herself. Not too old to be living with a room mate. She thought of Peter as so much older than he really was. "Who..? I mean, he didn't put an ad in the paper or anything, did he?"

"He moved in with a friend." The way she said 'friend' was a little odd. "Matt Murdock? They've known each other for a while. Mr. Murdock gave us a hand years ago when a friend of ours needed legal advice. I suppose he and Peter stayed close after that."

MJ nodded, wishing she could tell May just _how_ close they had stayed after that. But even without being with Peter, she kept his secrets. And Matt's secrets. She wasn't supposed to know, not really, but Peter wouldn't keep up Matt's lie to her after the news had broken in the tabloids.

"Well, good for him. They can keep each other company. ...May. Um. Can I ask something of you...?"

May paused, looking back up and lifting her cup of tea. "I can give you the address, but ... sweetheart, I'm afraid you'll get your heart broken again."

MJ chewed on the inside of her cheek, already rethinking all of this. But... "Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Well, no," May admitted. "Just be careful, Mary Jane."

"I will, May. I promise. I just want to see him and say hi, that's all." Mary Jane said it as if trying to will it into truth. She missed him so much it _hurt_, and it would be a lie to say that she wasn't imagining opening his door and throwing herself onto him. ----But no, that was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

* * *

By the time she was in Clinton and ready to knock on Peter's door, MJ had scared the life out of herself. The subway ride had been filled with self-assurances of 'You're divorced now, be a big girl' and 'You decided to just be friends' and had somehow morphed into 'He wouldn't want you back, anyway' and 'You're going to die fat and alone because no one else will love you, Mary Jane Watson'. Her heart didn't seem interested in helping her out, either, too busy pounding like a toddler relentlessly banging on a drum, so loud in her ears she was sure the rest of the world could hear it.

She only had to knock once before the door was opening. MJ wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that it wasn't Peter who answered. Matt was taller than she ever remembered him, but she'd only seen him a few times. Big, broad-shouldered, bright red hair, red-tinted glasses. If she ignored that he was _blind_, it would be easy to imagine this man as Daredevil, even now in lounge pants and a turtleneck.

"Can I help you...?" He raised an eyebrow, angling his head toward her.

"I'm Mary Jane. Peter's wife. ---Ex-wife," she corrected quickly, and even then, she caught the slight stiffening in Matt's stance when she said the word 'wife'. "His aunt told me he lives here...?" MJ cautiously leaned to the side, trying to look into the apartment, but Matt blocked most of the door.

"He does. She didn't give you the number to call ahead?" Matt frowned.

MJ shoved her hands in her pockets, guiltily clutching the paper with Peter's address and new phone number in her hand. "Is he home?"

Matt shifted to one side, angling his head to listen inside the apartment. MJ leaned to the side again, and now that he was out of the way, she could see Peter, laying on the couch, in his boxers and a sweater that was clearly too big for him, 'Columbia University' printed across his chest.

"He's asleep," Matt answered, though she wasn't listening. She was far too busy watching Peter, his hand crammed between his pillow at the couch, sleeping as peaceful as anything. At some point, he'd gotten the collar of his sweater pulled up near his nose, pressing it into the fabric. He didn't sleep well, and she doubted that had changed lately. Something about the sight _bothered_ her that she just couldn't place it.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Matt rested his arm against the door frame, cutting off her view and informing her rather shortly, "I'm not waking him up. Call next time."

Mary Jane winced. Frowned. "Can I leave a message?"

"Do I look like his secretary?"

Whoa, now. Uncalled for! "Can't you just tell him something for me?"

Matt didn't even appear to think about it. Instead, he automatically answered, "No. Didn't you leave him? What makes you think he wants to see you, anyway?"

"We're still _friends_," she insisted. Why did this feel like a cat fight? "I just want to see him. What are you, his girlfriend?"

Matt gave her a look torn between disdain and a smirk, and the next thing MJ saw was the door, closing in her face.

* * *

Matt considered telling Peter that MJ had stopped by, briefly. In the end, he decided against it. They'd both had a rough couple of days, and the last thing Peter needed was his ex-wife showing up and messing him up. Besides, Peter was sound asleep on the couch and Matt sure as hell wasn't going to get him up.

Things were ... okay. They had yet to really _talk_ about anything, because Peter didn't seem to want to. Strange, too, usually Peter was all over talking, at length, about everything, whether Matt wanted to or not. Now, all Peter wanted to do was just be happy and settle in when they were home. They'd bicker when they were out as Spider-Man and Daredevil, sure, but that was normal, and it was rarely over their personal problems. It was making Matt a little uneasy, but Peter could blabber his way out of most conversations and Matt was sick of trying. Matt kept busy with work, Peter kept busy with _looking_ for work, and that was how it was.

It was late by the time Peter finally woke up. He'd laid down that afternoon, meaning to just take a short nap, and ended up losing the evening to unexpected sleep. Matt was working when Peter finally came to, pausing when he heard Peter's breathing change. He liked listening to Peter sleep, knowing he was calm and quiet, at least for a little while. Peter shifted, reluctantly pushing himself to sit up. He stretched with a relieved groan, his spine cracking, before pushing himself to an equally reluctant stand. Bare feet made soft steps on the carpet, sticking to the floor when he passed through the kitchen. A hand sifted through his hair, stopping to scratch the back of his neck for a moment.

Matt knew the moment Peter decided he was tired of walking and crawled onto the wall, making his way to Matt's office via the ceiling instead. In living with Peter, Matt had noticed that he tended to crawl all over everything, especially when he was tired. He was very ... instinctual, in some ways, and had an easier time on the wall than on the ground. It took some getting used to, hearing Peter crawl over top his head and crawl down the wall next to him. Despite that, Matt smiled.

"Look who's up."

"You never look at anything." Peter kissed the top of Matt's head, twisting to rest on his back, feet holding him upside down on the wall. "I miss anything important while I was out?"

"Not really," Matt lied. "I ordered dinner. That's about it." He leaned over for a kiss, missing and ending up kissing Peter's cheek instead. One more try, and then another, until he'd finally found Peter's mouth, kissing with a little sigh. His work was temporarily forgotten, in favor of his hand on Peter's chest and his tongue pushing into his mouth.

The phone rang, and it was ignored until:

_"Hey, Peter? It's MJ. I stopped by earlier and you were asleep---"_ Peter pulled away, looking toward the phone. Matt leaned forward in surprise, nearly running into the wall. _"----and Matt told me to call. So I'm calling. He was really rude, by the way."_

"You didn't _tell me_ MJ was here?" Peter snapped, dropping off the wall to make a dash for the phone.

Matt scowled, somewhere between disgusted and possessive. "She's your ex-wife, Peter! What the hell do you think she wants?"

"We're friends!"

"Bullshit."

"Shut up." He snatched up the phone, praying she hadn't hung up. "MJ?"

_"And I---Peter! Hey. You're there."_

"I'm here."

_"I want to talk to you. Maybe dinner sometime, or...?"_

Peter glanced back at Matt (oh, God, if looks could kill), thought for a moment. "...How about right now. We can get ice cream or something."

_"Oh! Sure! I passed an ice cream shop when I was walking away from your apartment."_

"I know which one. I'll see you there." Peter returned Matt's nasty look as he hung up, adding, "The hell is wrong with you?"

"If you think she's here just to be _friends_, you're full of shit, Peter. She's here to get you back." Matt snorted, disgusted, and turned back toward his work.

"No, she's not." MJ wouldn't do that, would she? Sure, she had a habit of leaving and coming back and expecting things to be the way they were, but they were _divorced_. This was different.

"Whatever. I'm sure you're right and I'm wrong and you guys will just have a _great_ time."

"...You are such an ass."

* * *

At first, MJ didn't know what to say. They hugged when they met, though it lasted a little too long. There was a lot of effort put into ordering ice cream and not looking at each other. It was ... well, it was awkward, and MJ had only herself to blame for that, didn't she. She didn't want to talk about their relationship, not yet, not out in public, or her failing career in LA, even though he asked about it. She told him about her audition, about visiting Aunt May and Aunt Anna, and then they lasped into awkward silence, more interested in picking at their ice cream and turning it to melty mush.

"So," she said finally. "Living with Matt Murdock, huh? How'd that happen?"

Peter paused, stabbing the ice cream with his spoon. "I was having a hard time after you left, Matt's my friend. He offered and I took him. He's a good guy, usually."

MJ frowned. "Mm-hm."

"Are you seeing anybody?" he asked abruptly.

"I ... no. I'm not." She'd _been with_ men, but she wasn't seeing anyone. She couldn't bear to. "What about you? You have a girlfriend hanging around?"

"No." Honest, but ... why did that sound funny? Maybe it was because he'd found something really, really interesting buried in his dish and he was preoccupied. Or something.

"Good." Good? Good for who, Mary Jane? "...I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Peter said softly, looking back up at her.

"Maybe we could ... spend some time together, tiger. Just to catch up---in private, so we can talk." MJ reached over, gently touching his cheek.

Peter turned his face away, mouth pressing into a line when he shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Her hand hovered in the air, like she couldn't believe he'd ... said _no_ to her. "Why? It's just talking." And who really believes that MJ? You? Why? He certainly doesn't. "I'm not stealing you away, it's not like you've got someone waiting at home for you." He'd said no. He'd said _no_.

He looked back at her rather abruptly and answered, "I do, actually."

"But you just said you don't have a girlfriend." Dumbfounded.

"I don't."

"But..." MJ's face fell. It made sense now, Matt's sharp rudeness, the sweater that Peter was still wearing, that 'Columbia University' bright white and mocking her. Peter had gone to Empire State. "...Matt," she finished numbly, dropping her eyes down to her mostly melted ice cream. "You're gay. Oh my God, you're gay."

Peter cringed. To have it said with such _horror_... Christ. "MJ... It's not like it's always been this way. It hasn't. You left and Karen died and Matt and I just ... _happened_. It's not that you _did_ anything----" Except leave. "----it has nothing to do with you. I like him, and I enjoy being with him, and _why_ am I explaining myself to you, I don't have to."

"But..." She looked back up, on the verge of _tears_. "Were you not happy with me? I mean, when were together, you were happy, right?"

Peter's mouth dropped out, incredulous. "Of course I was! _You_ left _me_, remember? Don't turn this into my fault, _you_ left. You left, and you divorced me, and now you're getting upset because I found someone?"

"Someone with a dick, Peter." She looked up in time to see him flinch again. "I could understand if it was, I don't know, _Felicia_ or something, but this? This is different." She just couldn't reconcile the thought of Peter and _Matt_. Oh, God.

"Why do you care anyway?" he spat back, defensive. "You left me. For good. You can't take that back."

"Of course I care, I love you!"

There was a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence. By now, other patrons were staring, some of them whispering to each other. Pointing. Peter closed his eyes, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I have to go home." Peter stood, pushing in his chair. "I can't do this with you, MJ, I'm sorry."

"Peter---" He was already walking out, leaving MJ to sob once into her hand before following him. Catching up to him was easy, but only because he'd stopped halfway down the sidewalk, his back to her----and there was Matt, standing right in front of him. She paused, torn between turning away and staying to listen.

She stayed.

"----knew it wouldn't go well, I just..."

"You followed me."

"...Yeah."

"And you heard all that."

"Yeah." MJ felt her stomach turn when Matt reached up and smoothed Peter's hair back, resting his hand on the back of Peter's neck. "I'm sorry."

Peter shook his head, resting his hand on Matt's chest. "Don't worry about it. Let's go home." Matt nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to Peter's forehead.

That little kiss broke her heart, more than anything else that had happened that night. The way Peter leaned into it, responded with a kiss to Matt's cheek before breaking away to walk home, Matt's hand on his shoulder.

He wasn't hers anymore, and it shouldn't have felt like a revelation.


	21. The TwoHorned, GreenEyed Monster

"I hate to say I told you so."

"So don't say it. I hate it when people go 'I hate to say', because you know that's slang for 'I love saying this but I look like an ass, so I have to act like it's a terrible thing to say'. Say or don't say it, don't be a pain about it." Peter kicked off his shoes, dumping his coat over the arm of the couch.

"In that case: I _told you so_."

"...You are such an ass."

Matt rolled his eyes, ran his hand up the wall until he found the coat hook. Running his hand along the door, he felt out the deadbolt, locking it. "Why am I an ass for not wanting you around your ex? She wants you back. I don't care if she divorced you or stabbed you in the heart, she still _wants you_. I don't trust her."

"MJ's a good woman," Peter replied defensively. "If I say no, she'll leave it. It's not like she's waiting in alleyways to mug me and drag me off into some sort of----I don't know, sinister _love shack_ or---"

"Did I say that?"

"Do you have to? Look, Matt, I don't know what the hell you think she's _like_, but she's not one of your exes. Mine generally have a habit of _not_ trying to kill me when they crawl back to..." Peter cut himself off. He didn't even have to see Matt's hands tighten around his cane to know that that ... was the wrong thing to say. He cleared his throat.

There was a long, painful silence before Matt said: "Karen never tried to kill me."

"I was talking about Elektra," Peter said lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Not ... No, I meant Elektra. And that freaky Typhoid Mary thing."

"Good," Matt grunted, shoving his glasses up his nose. "I know she's not here to kill you. I don't want her near you."

Peter snorted, shaking his head. "Well ex_cuse_ me. I didn't know you were my babysitter, too." Not that he was sure he _wanted_ to see her again, but that wasn't the point.

"Don't be dramatic, Peter."

"Don't be an ass, Matt."

Matt reached over, grabbing Peter's arm. "Is it wrong that I don't want my _boyfriend's_ ex sniffing around for a pity lay?"

Peter jerked his arm away, scowling. "Don't pull that bullshit, Matt. This isn't about you!"

"The hell it isn't!" Matt snapped. "You're still in love with her! I'm not an idiot, Peter, I can practically smell it. You still _want her_!"

"Hey, I said no, didn't I?" Was this what it was going to turn into? Oh, God. "What's with you, anyway? I'm with _you_."

"You'd be with MJ if you had the chance." Matt scowled, shoving his glasses further up his nose. "I'm just your second choice."

"Don't. Don't do that, don't guilt me like that. Don't start with the whiny 'I'm your second choice and I feel inferior to MJ' bullshit. I'm with _you_! I _live with you!_ You don't have to prove to me that your dick is bigger than hers. I know it's big, okay? I know. I know exactly how big it is. It's bigger than mine, all right? Are you happy?"

"...Christ, Peter, _shut up_."

"Don't tell me to shut up, you started it!"

"You're being an idiot."

Peter threw his hands up in disgust. "This conversation is stupid. I'm done."

Matt made a face, somewhere between a indigence and offense. Like he wanted to complain about not being taken seriously enough but didn't want to sound whiny. "Fine."

"Fine."

"_Fine_."

Peter just grimaced, stalking off to the kitchen and muttering, "If I wanted to deal with this, I'd have stuck with MJ and Felicia."

At first, it seemed as if Matt would let that go. Just for a second. And then: "Do I have to worry about you fucking Felicia, too?"

"What are you, twelve?! For Christ's sake, Matt!"

"Do I?"

"Are you?"

"That's a stupid question."

"Bingo." Peter wrenched open the fridge, careful not to break it. Beer. Beer sounded good right about now. He heard Matt follow him in and ignored it. This conversation was stupid anyway. It wasn't like Matt to be so ... irrational. Ridiculous. There was no point in this at all, was there? Ever since the Bullseye thing, he'd been odd. More odd than usual, seeing as neither of them really qualified for normal to begin with.

He felt a strong hand on the back of his neck, tugging him away from the fridge. Turning on Matt, he wished (not for the first time) that Matt could see him. Facial expressions would be useful right about now. "_What_?"

"I'm not your wife."

"The sky is blue, by the way."

"Would you shut the fuck up?" Matt shoved him up against the counter, a little harder than necessary. "I'm not your wife. I'm not going to sit here and piss and moan over what you're doing. I don't _have to_, I can hear it in your heartbeat---" His hand tightened in the fabric of Peter's shirt, just over his heart. It sounded like he was talking more to himself than to Peter. He leaned in, pressing his nose to Peter's hair. "I'd know if you ever did anything. I'd know in a second."

Peter leaned away a little, mouth pressing into a line. Cautiously patted Matt on the back. Matt reached up, tangling his hand in Peter's hair, tugging a little without meaning to.

"Matt..." Peter's expression softened. He touched Matt's cheek, nudging him a little with his nose and looking up. At least Matt wasn't yelling anymore. "Chill out, okay?" Please. Before he did something weird and Peter had to go all Spider-Man on him.

"This is my sweater," Matt muttered, dropping his cane to tug the sweater up and over Peter's head with both hands. Peter let him, still looking toward the ceiling when Matt leaned in and kissed his throat. The sweater was tossed away, left hanging sadly off the back of a chair. There was something strange in the way Matt touched him, like he was making sure this was the same person he lived with. The kind of touch that would be expected the first time they were together, but not now, so far in. Small touches, Matt's hands against his chest, mouth against his cheek, his nose, his forehead. But it wasn't _violent_ or aggressive, just ... odd.

"Matty." Peter brought his hands up, cradling Matt's face and making him look up. He cautiously slid off Matt's glasses, unbothered by the blank stare behind them, gently touching the bridge of Matt's nose.

Matt leaned in. The kiss was hard, demanding something Peter wasn't sure he could give. But it was better than fighting and after the tense situation with MJ, Peter was aching for the affection, letting his head fall to the side when Matt's mouth found the pulse under his jaw, the line of his neck, his shoulder, his hand resting on Peter's cheek, cradling his jaw. Matt ran his fingers over Peter skin, pushing two fingers into his mouth, sliding in and out and caressing his tongue.

Peter gasped around his fingers when Matt bit down on his shoulder with a possessive growl, harder than he normally would. Grabbing Peter's hand by the wrist, he brought it to the hem of Peter's jeans. Peter fumbled with his pants, pulling them open so Matt could push his free hand underneath his boxers, wrapping his hand around Peter's cock and _squeezing_, eliciting a loud grunt, not entirely of pleasure.

Peter shifted, letting Matt's fingers slip out of his mouth. "Careful. I use that. Please don't break it."

"You're fine," Matt breathed, biting Peter's neck before lowering himself down, mouth trailing over Peter's chest to keep his place. Peter tensed for a moment, as if he expected Matt to _bite_ again, but he only groaned when Matt leaned forward, letting Peter's cock push into his mouth. He didn't expect Matt to almost immediately push a finger into him, let alone a second, and ... yeah, it hurt a bit.

"_Matt_." Matt's only response was to groan around him, pushing in further. Peter tensed up, and a moment later Matt was pulling back, mouth twisted in pain.

"_Ow._"

"Yeah, slow the fuck down."

"You're gonna break my hand if you keep that up. Relax."

"You're being pushy. Don't." But Peter relaxed, letting Matt pull his hand back and flex his fingers, hissing.

"Don't do that." Matt took a deep breath, shaking his hand out before leaning in, meaning to kiss Peter's cock but missing, his mouth against Peter's hip instead. "I'll be better." His mouth trailed back to his erection, Peter dropping his hand to lightly touch Matt's cheek, gently guiding him. Peter was willing to forgive him anything, and besides, it was just sex. Nothing was perfect, right?

Taking Peter back in his mouth, Matt eased one finger in this time, putting most of his attention into sucking. Groaning, his mouth making wet noises against Peter's skin, Peter's heartbeat pressed against his tongue, listening to Peter's _sounds_. Peter was vocal, resting on his elbows on the counter, letting his head rest back, happy noises slipping out of his mouth. Matt's mouth gradually became more insistent while he pushed a second finger in, letting Peter's buck his hips and gently fuck his mouth. Peter's hand slid back into Matt's hair, tugging in what would normally have been affection.

Peter shifted, shoving into Matt's mouth, breath quickening. "Matt---!" Instead of staying there like he normally would, Matt actually pulled back, letting Peter tug on his hair while he pulled his hand out to stroke his cock instead. Fast, rough, with no intention other than to bring out an orgasm.

Matt pushed himself up, pressing his clothed body against Peter's, mouth against Peter's throat like he was drawn to it, to his breath, the strong pulse in his neck. His free hand came back up to Peter's face, sensitive fingers wandering to trace the bridge of his nose, Peter's open mouth, the line of his neck, arched back. He didn't tell Peter to come, didn't whisper anything erotic or loving. Just _listened_, Peter's heart pounding in his head like it was his own as he came, feeling the sharp groan in the back of Peter's throat.

With Peter against his hand, Matt pushed him up to sit on the counter, tugging Peter's legs up around his waist. Disoriented from the orgasm, Peter made a noise that couldn't be assigned one way or the other, grabbing Matt for something to cling to and letting Matt move him around, one leg resting comfortably over Matt's shoulder. Without taking pause, Matt _pushed_ into him, pushing an uncomfortable sound out of Peter's throat, drowning in the sound of Matt's pained groan. But he kept pushing regardless, thrusting in, all instinct and jealousy-inspired passion. Peter wasn't saying no, wasn't pushing him away, because he loved him. Because nobody else mattered. Because Peter was _his_ and would never leave him.

Matt came far quicker than Peter, spilling into him with an unremarkable grunt, breathing hard against Peter's shoulder. Peter's face was turned toward the ceiling, and he could feel Matt's weight resting against him as his chest rose and fell. He was going to be a little sore in the morning, he could tell, already aching with Matt still inside him, waiting out the aftereffects of Matt's orgasm. When Matt mumbled something about going to bed twenty minutes later, Peter just nodded, letting Matt pull back and disentangle them. Matt caught him before he could rest on his own feet, slipping a hand underneath his knees and picking him up. Peter just grumbled, wrapping an arm around Matt's neck and burying his face in the other side. If Matt wanted to carry him, fine.

In the morning, he would barely remember curling up under the covers and wouldn't remember Matt coming to bed at all. He'd be asleep by then, and oblivious to Matt cuddling up to him and telling Peter he loved him.

* * *

Peter felt like he constantly woke up sore since coming to live with Matt. It didn't tend to bother him, but the next morning, he woke up feeling ... yeah, a little sick to his stomach. He turned in bed once he had the courage to open his eyes, and was almost relieved when it was empty. Matt had already gone to work. Thank God. That familiar sore feeling was fading fast, but it was still _there_ and that ... that was a little embarrassing. Made him think.

Eventually, he pulled himself out of bed and made himself at home with his breakfast. He had to go in to the _Bugle_ this afternoon and he was tempted to just lay around until then (oh, sweet freedom)----

Until he got a good look at the calender.

"Jesus on a stick," he said under his breath, setting down his bowl of cereal and reaching for the phone. Praying to God Betty's husband didn't pick up. Ned Leeds was _so_ not Peter Parker's biggest fan.

Three rings, and then: _"Betty Brant."_

"Betty. Hey. It's Peter. You know I love you, right? So much. Very much."

_"What did you forget to do, Pete?"_ He could practically hear her smiling on the other end.

"Guess whose birthday it is in a week."

_"Your aunt."_

"More testosterone."

_"...Oh, dear. Put on your shopping shoes and grab your wallet. We'll take Ned's car."_

"Thank you so much, Betty. I don't know what I would do without you."

_"You'd be recording mix tapes of science lectures, sweetie. I'll be right over."_

* * *

Betty Brant was like a birthday gift _goddess_. Or maybe it just seemed that way to Peter, who was generally completely terrible with remembering birthdays, let alone shopping for them. By the end of the trip, they had in their possession a new sweater, ridiculously soft slippers, CDs (he'd really needed Betty for that one; Peter had no taste in music to speak of. Matt played the radio constantly and Betty had somehow managed to decipher every singer Peter had attempted to describe from memory.), a Braille watch, and they had placed an order for a Braille birthday card they Peter had been promised would show up in a few days. Not all great for his wallet, but hey, it was a special occasion.

They were settled at a cafe afterward, killing time before work, the bags from the shopping trip resting between their feet. Betty was stealing bits of Peter's cake, sliver by sliver, as if he couldn't see her reaching for it.

"You are my favorite person right now," Peter was saying (hence the allowing of the cake theft). "I never would've thought of the slippers."

"_Everyone_ loves slippers, Peter. Even cranky lawyers need to have warm feet."

"He's not _cranky_..." Peter made a face. "...All right, not _much_. He really isn't. Just sometimes."

"Mm-hm." She stole another bite of cake. "You always look so tired, Pete."

"I've always looked tired." Peter flaked a bit of crust off of Betty's pie in retaliation. "Matt's not exacerbating the tired."

"It's a different kind of tired. I---Some of my friends, I've seen them with ... sketchy men and they all had the same look." Betty frowned, suddenly ten times more serious. "I mean, I know I just helped you buy presents and everything, so obviously I don't think he's the devil incarnate, but... I worry, Pete. I do."

Peter sighed, staring down into his mug of coffee. "Bets. Come on." This question was getting so old. As if Foggy's paranoia wasn't enough, but maybe this was just fair. Matt had a skeptical friend, now Peter had a skeptical friend. Always had a skeptical friend.

"You come in to work with bruises, too."

"I always come in with bruises."

"Yeah, but..." Betty looks down, knocking Peter's fork away when he goes for her pie again. "I've never met him, Pete. I met MJ, I even met Gwen. Hell, I even saw you with Felicia. Other than pictures in the tabloids, I've never seen you with Matt."

"He's busy. He's good at his job, he works late." Christ, Betty. Stop it. "Can you just trust me, here...?"

Betty seemed ... reluctant to let it go. She had the look of a woman with gut instinct practically kicking down her door. "Just..."

"Bet, if we're having issues, what makes you think it's him? I could be a real monster at home, you don't know." Peter shrugged.

"No. No, you're too sweet for that. Little flaky, but sweet."

Peter had to smile a little. "Thanks, Betty. I appreciate the vote of confidence. Look. We'll go out to dinner, okay? You can bring Ned or something."

"I can accept that," Betty said wryly. "How's next week? You can tell me how the presents went over."

"Next week is good." He reached over and stole more pie, as if that sealed the deal. "We should get going, JJ will pop a blood vessel if we're late."

"Not that that's anything new. Let's go."

* * *

As it turned out, Jonah nearly broke a blood vessel anyway. Betty didn't seem fazed in the least, taking her seat and booting up her computer without so much as flinching. Peter, though----

"PARKER! GET IN HERE!"

Peter wasn't one to deny the Call of Jonah for the sake of his paycheck and nearly tripped over himself to get in there. "Mr. Jameson...?"

"Tell me you have something for me, so help me, Parker, if I get more pictures of old ladies in the park---!"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got---" Peter was cut off by his cell phone going off. The one he'd forgotten to silence before walking in the door. God damn it.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT, PARKER?"

"My phone---"

"I KNOW IT WAS A PHONE, WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE YOUR PHONE IN MY OFFICE?"

"Sorry, sorry." Peter scrambled to pull the photos out of his bag, his phone ringing insistently. He snatched up the phone, opening it so he could close it and hang it up. "Here. Sorry about that." Just as he handed over the folder, the phone rang again. Shit.

Jonah practically ripped the folder out of Peter's hands, flipping it open and barking, "Well pick it up, Parker, what are you waiting for! Maybe your aunt needs to make sure you know when your curfew is." He chuckled, and Peter half-heartedly followed suit. Jonah was mocking him, embarrassing him in front of the rest of the staff, and everybody knew it.

Peter tried to ignore Jonah's usual mantra of "Crap... crap... crap... more crap" and stepped to the side to reluctantly answer his phone. "Yeah?"

_"Why didn't you pick up the first time?"_

Christ. "Do I call you when you're in court?"

That made Jonah pause. "That your boyfriend, Parker?"

Don't look at him, don't look at him, don't look at him. "What?"

_"There was a break-in at the Osborn place, Pete. Thought you'd want to get a jump on it. You're welcome."_

"Don't be an ass. ...Thanks."

_"Mm. I'll see you tonight."_ A short pause, and then: _"I love you."_

Peter hesitated, resisting the urge to glance at Jonah. "Yeah."

_"Yeah?"_

"Yeah. I'll see you when I get home." Peter hung up, trying to pretend Jonah _wasn't_ staring at him like he had two heads. "Mr. Jameson---"

"Your photos are shit, Parker." Jonah tossed the rejected photos back on his desk. "I'll give you three hundred."

"Sir, someone just broke into the Osborn place." Peter couldn't deny the nice sense of satisfaction he felt when Jonah's entire expression changed. Like he'd just realized Peter could actually say more than 'Yes, sir' and 'Sorry, Mr. Jameson'.

"Your boyfriend tell you that?" he demanded angrily.

"He did."

"He trustworthy?"

"Sure."

"THEN GET YOUR ASS OVER THERE! AND TAKE LEEDS WITH YOU!"


	22. Warning Bells

There was a very strange comfort in Peter's relationship with Norman. They'd been fighting each other for the past thirteen years. _Thirteen years._ That was longer than most marriages, these days. Sure, Norman was supposed to be dead, but he'd gotten better, the big stupid bastard. All comfy and cosy at home, quietly missing his son and blah blah blah. Lies, all of them, but he and Peter had called a bit of a truce recently regarding the Trying To Kill Each Other thing. Not that Norman had totally given up, he was just on a sort of Homicide Hiatus at the moment.

It was no surprise that Norman was waiting for Peter when he showed up that night. Even had a glass of wine out for him. You know, just in case. Spider-Man perched on Norman Osborn's balcony like he belonged there, almost grateful that he didn't have to storm in and go looking.

"Aw, Gobby, you shouldn't have. Candlelight and roses? For me? I'm flattered."

"Red wine, too. Good for your heart."

"Cute sentiment, considering how much you like breaking it. Speaking of breaking: you want to give us both a hand and just skip to the part about the break in? The, ah, incredibly secretive, let's-not-tell-the-press-what-was-stolen break in?"

"It's nothing for you to be concerned about, Peter." Norman idly flexed his wrist, making the wine in his glass whirl. "Just a small break in. It's been taken care of."

"Uh huh." He frowned underneath the mask. "Don't use your PR voice with me, Mr. Osborn. What have I told you about that? Sure it was nothing I should hear about? New project you're working on, maybe? Goblin suit? Should I be ready for someone else in a Goblin suit?"

"Come now, Peter. If someone had stolen the Goblin equipment, wouldn't I _want_ you to know so you could do my dirty work for me? We know each other better than that." He took a lazy sip of wine, already bored with the conversation.

"I see." Peter nodded. "You don't actually know who did it, do you?" But he couldn't argue with the logic. Norman would be telling him if it were some new whackjob in the Goblin armor. It was common knowledge among heroes and villains alike that Spider-Man _did not tolerate_ people in Goblin suits, no matter how innocently or naively they were worn.

"Surely you can't be interested in theft of my assets, Mr. Parker. The Goblin suit is safe and harmless, right where it always is. I'm adhering to your ridiculous truce. Now run along home; Daddy has work to do."

For once, Peter was kind of bummed Norman couldn't see the look on his face. "Just don't do anything stupid, Gobs. I've got my eyes on you."

Norman just grinned, and Peter would swear his teeth got pointier every time they saw each other. "Always."

* * *

Ben Urich had been following Daredevil since ... well, since he first showed up. It was kind of his thing, and he had yet to publish a damn thing about it. Refused to, on moral grounds. He knew Matt Murdock personally and had acted as a sort of guardian for his identity when it came to the Bugle----until Peter Parker came along, anyway, and even then.

And ever since that meeting with Jonah that Peter had barged in on to let Jonah know that Matt wasn't Daredevil, he'd wondered about _Peter_, too. He'd put some pieces together, and when the media had outed Peter and Matt's relationship, that more than confirmed suspicions. Suspicions that Ben had never shared with anyone and had never _intended_ to share, even with Peter himself. He was a good man, he liked Peter Parker, and he believed in what they did.

He spent most of his time doing what reporters do: sniffing around where no one else wanted to go. And thanks to that sniffing (and some well-placed connections), Ben had to break his code of silence. For Matt and Peter's sakes both.

No one was home when he called. Ben could only hope it was because they already knew and were out in their suits, saving the lives nobody ever heard about. But he left a message anyway. His conscience wouldn't let him do otherwise.

_"Hey Matt. Peter. It's not going to hit the news unless someone from the prison leaks it, but ... Bullseye's out. Watch your backs."_

* * *

Peter was out late that night. Keeping an eye out, yes, but ... well, all right, to be totally honest he wanted to. Being out late meant he didn't have to face Matt just yet, or even really think about him. He wasn't sure how to bring things up, how exactly to say, "Hey, so that sex the other night was kind of creepy. What the hell?" It just wasn't something that was easy to say, especially to someone as volatile and aggressive as Matt. And then he would get broody and insufferable and Peter just had to wonder how worth it the argument was.

It was around three in the morning when Spider-Man slipped through the window, painfully hungry and in serious need of a trip to the toilet. Slipping into the bathroom, Peter tried to be as quiet as possible, knowing that Matt would've woken up the second he opened the window, if he was home at all.

Padding back out to the kitchen, Peter quietly helped himself to some leftover casserole, not bothering to heat it up. The fatigue was settling in, sitting at the bottom of his stomach with the casserole. He was just setting the dish in the sink when he heard soft footsteps, the sound of a hand sliding along the wall.

Matt.

Peter turned. Matt's white eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim light, the street lamp outside the window, the moon. He carried himself oddly, a little slumped, more than just tired.

"Hey..." Peter cocked his head. "You all right...?"

"I... come here," Matt said wearily, stepping forward. Peter knew from the way he moved that he wasn't really focusing his radar senses, and he met him halfway, touching his shoulder. Matt took his hand, kissing Peter's wrist before pulling him in for a gentle hug.

"What's wrong?" Peter breathed, wrapping his arms around Matt and kissing his shoulder. "Did something happen while you were out?"

"I love you. And I know you've seen me through these woman and I fall fast, but I love you."

Peter pulled back, making a face. "What's wrong?" he repeated. "Matt. What the hell?" Was he trying to apologize for the other night? Maybe?

"Shh." Matt reached up, taking Peter's face in his hands. "I don't want to lose you. And whatever happens with... I might be out of my mind, but I know that... if anything happens, I want you to be safe. Save yourself."

Peter leaned in, squinting in the dark. He gently touched Matt's face. "Have you been crying...?" ...Oh, dear. "Is it a Karen night?"

"Bullseye's out," Matt breathed, leaning into Peter's touch. "I don't know how, but there's definitely foul play. I got a call from Urich and I was looking all night. No sign. There won't be, until he strikes. He's too good."

"Oh... God, no, Matt, don't be afraid. We'll be fine." It was said with that almost maddening confidence, too honest to be upset with, the kind of genuine optimism that made Matt want to give up his well-earned paranoia and believe it. "You can fight him, I can fight him. He won't kill one of us if the other isn't there, and if we're both there, we can take him. I won't die on you, Matt. I promise. You need me too much." Peter leaned up, kissing Matt tenderly on the mouth. They'd have to talk about things tomorrow instead. Or maybe the next day.

"I do need you, Peter Parker." Matt's mouth twitched in what would have turned into a smile any other night, kissing his nose.

Peter _did_ smile, nudging him toward the door. "Come on. It's half past way too damn late at night and I need my beauty sleep."

* * *

Peter took the liberty of slipping a spider tracer into Matt's suit pocket the next morning before he left for work. Just in case. He waited by the door as Matt walked away, eyes closed and concentrating on the gentle hum of the tracer until it disappeared entirely. Bullseye was out. He'd be around eventually, and they both knew it.

But that didn't make their problems disappear. Peter had been in denial about it for too long, and he knew that Matt was aware of them. Peter had to do something or Matt would never get around to it.

When Matt got back, Peter was waiting, watching the news. He stood when Matt walked through the door. "Hey."

"Hey." Matt set down his briefcase and tugged off his jacket, feeling along the wall for the coat hanger. Peter went over before he found it, taking the jacket and hanging it up. He could still feel the gentle hum of the tracer in the pocket. "How was your day?"

"Fine. Same as ever. Jonah nearly burst a blood vessel, you know---hey." Peter looked over when Matt leaned in and pressed his mouth to the side of his neck, catching Matt in a kiss to his mouth. "You had court today, right?"

"That's being generous. Foggy had court; I was the gimmick." But Matt grinned a bit, more fond than annoyed. "My mind was in another place."

Peter nodded, even if Matt couldn't see it. "So Foggy won?"

"Of course."

"Oh, of course." Peter affectionately picked at Matt's collar, gently undoing his tie. "We, ah. Matt. We have to talk."

Matt frowned. "About what? If it's about last night, I'm fine now. I wasn't crying. Bullseye's just out---speaking of, I was only stopping in, I'm going out again tonight to look. There was a murder in the Kitchen, I want to get to it before the media starts swarming."

"Not about last night. Just give me a couple minutes, all right? Then you can go. I have to go, too." Or should go. Again. Peter had been Spider-Man most of today, trying to get a hint of Bullseye, with no luck. He wasn't necessarily afraid of Bullseye the way Matt was; Peter had beaten him. Then again, he'd gotten out of jail. He'd broken out, and Peter was the last person to underestimate a bad guy out for revenge.

Matt twitched, but he let Peter put off his tie before moving to unbutton his own shirt. "Talk, then."

"The other night. When I went out to see MJ and I came home and you jumped on me---"

"I didn't jump on you."

"Yes, you did, shut up."

"I didn't jump on you, Pete." Matt grimaced. "I came onto you. You liked it."

"It was creepy, dude."

Matt recoiled, and for a moment, he looked incredibly vulnerable. _Hurt_. But it was quickly covered by an indignant scowl. "This isn't the time, Peter, I have work to do---"

"Don't walk away from me, jackass." Peter stepped forward when Matt turned to walk away, catching him by the arm. "I'm serious. We have problems, we need to _talk_----"

"_Now_ you want to talk about our problems!" Matt snapped. "I've been trying to talk to you for _weeks_ and _now_ you want to talk. I'm not dealing with this right now." He yanked his arm out of Peter's grip, and Peter let him go.

"Don't wuss out on me because of Bullseye, Matt, this is _important_," Peter insisted, following as Matt stalked to the bedroom, intent on at least trying to talk it out.

"At least I have a good goddamn reason. You put it off because you couldn't just _grow up_ and handle it like an adult." Matt wasn't sure where _that_ had come from, but regardless, he slammed the bedroom door in Peter's face and locked the door.

Peter was just plain _dumbfounded_. Grow up? He couldn't _grow up_? "What the _hell_, Matt!" Peter reached for the doorknob and swore when it wouldn't turn. They both knew he could get in if he wanted anyway, but Peter restrained himself. "Can't handle it like an adult my _ass_," Peter muttered. "Fine! Be like that."

Peter stalked back to the living room, angrily tearing at his clothes. While Matt was changing into his suit, Peter was dumping his clothes on the floor and hopping out the window, still tugging on his mask when he jumped.

Couldn't handle it like an adult indeed.


	23. End of Days

Peter woke up crying in pain. He was beyond making much noise at that point, but at least he was seeing again. Dull colors, yes, but probably because the room he was in was dark. He wasn't sure if he wanted to throw up or die or both. It felt _gross_ underneath his mask, wet with tears and mucus from the involuntary crying. It was more than a headache. It was like something in his _brain_, seizing up his spine and jaw and limbs, making him nauseous. His spider senses could control his _entire body_, make it move just the way it had to, and now? Now they were making him entirely _useless_.

From what he _could_ see, the Goblin had taken him to some sort of ... abandoned building. Half demolished, debris laying around, hanging off the ceiling. It was dark, probably night. No sign of Norman.

It took an embarrassing amount of effort, but Peter managed to move, just enough to push himself onto his back. Oh, God, no, that wasn't where he wanted to be. Stomach. Had to be on his stomach to push himself up. Every movement was agony, akin to moving through molasses that shocked his skin.

Over the heavy buzz in his head, he faintly heard footsteps coming toward him. The Green Goblin's face came into his vision, coming closer as he crouched down. Peter opened his mouth, making a little noise that would have been a wise-ass comment any other time. The Goblin reached for him and the best he could do was twitch while a strong hand gripped the back of his neck, keeping Peter's bleary eyes toward the masked face.

The Green Goblin's chuckle seemed ages away to Peter. The Goblin reached up, pulling off his mask. Peter made another pained noise below him.

He smiled. "Hey, Pete."

* * *

Peter wasn't with Betty, or May, and now both of them were worried. Matt chose to ignore that. It wasn't his job to comfort them, just to find Peter. If Bullseye had Peter and was planning to kill him, he'd have him somewhere Matt could find. It was personal. It had to be personal, and he wouldn't kill one without the other. Or so Matt was convinced of, considering his past experience. So he disappeared into the night as Daredevil, stretching his senses as far as they would go, praying for the trace of a scent, the steady beat of Peter's heart, the cold thud of Bullseye's, or Norman Osborn's. Betty had told him she'd been abducted by the Green Goblin and rescued by Spider-Man---and now Peter was missing. The most dangerous team up Matt could think of and they were working together to destroy Spider-Man and Daredevil. Matt never would have guessed that the Goblin would take a partner, but he wasn't in a position to question it.

It was long, painstaking hours later when Matt _finally_ heard the beat of Peter's heart. It was fast, scared, pained, but _his_---and with him a slow, cold beat that jumped now and then in _excitement_. It's a killer's heartbeat. Matt honed in on Peter's, rushing to an abandoned building that was practically falling apart.

Daredevil stepped in, and that cold heart jumped again, even as Matt whipped out his billy club and shoots the grapple. When he jumped away, Spider-Man hit the floor with a sickening thud, grunting at the extra surge of pain to the back of his head. Daredevil flinched, dashing in to get between Peter and----

"Bullseye."

Bullseye _grinned_. "Hi, Matty. You like the new suit? I happen to the like the green, but----_oh_, you can't see it, can you? _Damn._"

"The Goblin gave you a new suit?" Matt was torn, reluctant to leave Peter's side while he was hurting like this, but knowing that Bullseye would go right for the kill if he did. He wasn't letting Peter _move_, the frequency pen turned up all the way. It killed him to see Peter this way, in so much pain, unable to even _speak_. Sure, Matt had issues and didn't like being the weaker one, but he _never_ wanted to hear this, those noises coming out of Peter's throat. "Where is he? Where's the Green Goblin?!"

Bullseye _laughed_, unclipping something from his new belt. "New toys, too!" He tossed it up, and Matt only heard whatever it was clatter against metal and beep. Bomb, it was a bomb, it was a bomb and it was right about them---!

Matt turned, hauling Peter up to move him out of the way. Peter twisted in his arms, groaning painfully, and Matt only had a second. He took two steps when the bomb exploded, freeing a metal beam in the ceiling. It came crashing down and Matt shoved himself forward, hitting the ground and letting go of Peter, who rolled onto his side away from Matt.

The beam hit the ground. Something cracked and Matt almost _screamed_, his leg twisted and bent underneath the metal, effectively pinning him to the ground. Shit. _Shit_. He was sloppy and Peter was no more safe now than he had been a minute ago. What are you _doing_, Matt?

Bullseye just kept laughing, more interested in watching and playing than going right for the throat. "Having trouble getting up, Red? How's your leg? You get a scratch?"

Peter groaned, rolling onto his back, head lolling to the side to look at Matt. He opened his mouth, his voice cracking before he forced out, "Matt..."

"Pete." Matt tried to reach for him and hissed in pain. "I'm sorry. I'll get you out of here." He twisted, groaning and trying to push at the beam. It was too heavy for Matt to handle on his own. He was only _human_, god damn it.

"You hear that, Petey? Red's gonna get you out of here." More cackling, sickening laughter. "Ask him how he'll do it. Really, go ask him."

"S'okay..." Peter shoved himself onto his stomach, reaching toward Matt. "Gonna be ... nngh. Fine." Trying to comfort _Matt_. Slowly but surely, Peter dragged himself over, leaning heavily on the beam on Matt's leg. Bullseye was just _letting him_, taunting them by letting Peter try to save him. Content to wait and watch and laugh at them, like this was a comedy routine, a game show, reality TV.

Still, Peter pushed at the beam, despite the overwhelming pain. His heart was racing and Matt was almost afraid it would _burst_. Even in all that pain, even without being able to see or move well, he was strong, leaning his weight into the beam and pushing it off Matt's leg. Matt grunted, hearing the bones and muscles in his leg shift and groan. He couldn't hear the laughter anymore, turning it out like the other ambient noises.

"Gonna get out of here," Peter muttered. "Too ... too dingy to die here..."

That ridiculous, fruitless attempt at bad humor was enough to give Matt a rush of confidence. He didn't know how they were going to do this with his leg broken and that frequency thing still on, but they would find a way. Bullseye's pride had him just watching, for now, content to let them _try_ to get up and fight. It was no fun for him to kill them like this, after all, was it? Good old Bullseye, that bastard, he could always be counted on to play with his food.

Matt took up his billy club, pinpointed Bullseye with his radar sense and threw the club toward Bullseye's chest with deadly accuracy. It gave them one brief moment, one that probably wouldn't be enough but an opening was an opening. Matt struggled to push himself up, reaching for Peter. They were going to get up, they were going to fight, they were going to find a _way_, just like they always did.

What happened next took all of five seconds. The club missed. Bullseye jumped aside. The Goblin glider whirred to life, rising into the air. Matt took Peter's hand and Peter gripped tight, using each other to get up, Matt's back to Bullseye. The whirring came closer, louder, faster, and Peter's spider senses _surged_. He cried out in pain, but he reacted, throwing Matt behind him.

There wasn't enough time for him to dodge it himself.

The glider hit. Peter choked as the blades stabbed clean through his chest, making him stumble forward, fell hard to his knees. The glider's engine cut, and no longer holding itself up, its weight dragged Peter to the side, the glider resting on the ground at an angle and holding Peter up by virtue of its impaling him.

"Peter!" Matt scrambled to get to him, dragging himself over with his arms and good leg. "Peter! Stay awake, stay with me---" His heart was still beating, his heart was still beating, his heart was still beating.

Beating around a blade, one clean through his heart, another through his lung. But it was still _beating_ and Matt hung onto that.

And Bullseye? Bullseye, god damn him, he was still laughing. There was a sound off in the distance, the whirring of another glider coming toward them, and Bullseye cut himself off. Not scared, but with an urgency in his heartbeat that Matt had learned to recognize as the need to flee.

Making for the stairs, Bullseye paused to look back. "Oh, Matthew. By the way. Happy birthday."

Bullseye ran, and an instant later the _real_ Green Goblin came crashing through a window. "_Where is he?!_ Where is Bullseye?! I tracked my glider here, now _where is he_?!" Looking around, he caught sight of Peter and _swore_. "_NO!_"

"You!" Matt struggled to pull Peter off the blades, trying to jostle him as little as possible. "You did this! You gave Bullseye the bombs, you let him have the glider! You're dead, Osborn, you hear me!"

"I didn't do this, you fool! Why would I help _someone else_ kill Spider-Man? Don't just _sit there_!" Norman swooped in, scooping Peter up despite Matt's protests.

"You've done enough damage, _leave him alone!_" Matt tried to lunge, his leg twisting and giving under his weight and making him fall to the ground again.

"Damned if Spider-Man will die by someone else's hand!" The Green Goblin cried, taking Spider-Man and flying back out the window, leaving Matt alone. No Bullseye, no Goblin, and no heart beating slowly in Peter's chest. Just his own heart in his throat, the pain in his leg.

He couldn't move, and after a few moments, he couldn't hear Norman and Peter. All he could do was force himself not to break down and drag himself outside. Get to a phone. Get Foggy. Get help.

Get to Peter.

* * *

Less than a minute after leaving Daredevil behind, the Green Goblin was lowering himself in front of a hospital. He dropped Spider-man at their doorstep and barked, "_SAVE HIM!_"

And just like that, he was gone, leaving the very confused medical staff to rush forward and save the life of Spider-Man.

* * *

Foggy ended up borrowing his next door neighbor's car to go get Matt. He didn't have one of his own, but he couldn't trust a taxi. On the way over, he heard the news on the radio. Spider-Man was in the hospital, and Foggy had to tell himself he would live before he turned it off altogether. Peter was with doctors, and now Matt needed _him_. One thing at a time.

Matt was leaning up against the abandoned building when Foggy pulled up. His leg was broken, twisting at sickening angles, but the first thing he said when Foggy got out of the car was, "Where's Peter?"

"He's at the hospital."

Matt coughed. "Son of a _bitch_. He wasn't working with Bullseye, never would---" And he'd saved Peter. Gotten him to help faster than Matt ever could have. Bastard.

"Doctors have him now, Matt. Let's get _you_ to a doctor." Foggy reached down, pulling Matt up and listening to him groan in pain. "Come on. We'll go to the Night Nurse."

* * *

May Parker hadn't been able to sleep after Matt Murdock had called her asking where Peter was. She'd baked three batches of cookies and a pie, paced all over the house, attempted to sooth herself with tea, but it just wasn't coming.

It was almost two in the morning when she got the phone call. May snatched the phone and immediately answered, "Peter?!"

Instead, the voice on the other end was low and female. Compassionate but detached. A doctor. _"Mrs. Parker? This is Dr. Laurence from St. Luke's Hospital."_

"Dr. Laurence...? Do you have Peter?"

_"We have someone that we believe to be your nephew, Peter Parker. Could you identify his body if we showed it to you? We attempted to call his room mate but no one picked up the phone."_

"His ... body..." May's heart dropped into her stomach. His body. They had Peter's body. The only reason they would have Peter body was if he were dead. God in Heaven, they had Peter's body. Her voice was numb when she answered, "Yes. Yes, I could. Now...?"

_"If you could, ma'am. Thank you. We're so sorry to have to make this call, Mrs. Parker. Take your time."_

"Thank you..." May dropped the phone back on the cradle, her hand suddenly weak. They had a body, because Peter was dead.

Her baby was dead, and all Mrs. May Reilly Parker could do was sit on her kitchen chair and cry. If only that would make a difference.

* * *

There was no news on when Matt was with the Night Nurse. She kept things quiet for him, doping him up on all the drugs she could get away with before going about fixing his leg. The whole experience would have been unbearably painful if not for the drugs.

She did him a favor and knocked him out for a good, long time. It's late afternoon the next day by the time he comes to, his leg still numbed up but his mind mostly there. As he's waking up, there's someone in the chair next to the bed.

"Peter...?" Matt shifted, groaning.

"Sorry, Matt. Just me." Foggy. Oh, Foggy.

"Where's Pete?"

Foggy hesitated. He was silent until Matt repeated, "Where's Pete, Foggy?"

"He... Matt." God, Matt. Foggy was so sorry. He didn't want to be the one to tell you this. "He... Peter, he ... he didn't make it."

Matt made a face. Snorted. "That's not funny, Foggy."

"...I know."

"That's not ... no." Matt covered his ears with his hands, like he could really block out the noise. But he knew it was the truth; Foggy would never lie to him. It was true. And as he listened to the world around him, he could hear it, people talking about it, the news on peoples' televisions talking about the death of Spider-Man.

Spider-Man, who had died to save Daredevil. Who had died helpless and unable to really move, unable to really speak or cry out or properly protect himself. Who Matt had been supposed to protect. Gone, expired, killed.

"Get out," Matt said softly. Foggy frowned.

"Matt...?"

"I said _get out!_" Matt snapped. "Get out!"

Foggy stood, retreating before Matt could reach over and hurt him. As he left the room, he heard Matt choke, then sob. Then a thud, the sound of a fist hitting a wall and hysterical crying Foggy would pretend later that he never heard.


	24. Epilogue

By evening, no one in New York was oblivious. Even the rats in the sewers knew. Every single newspaper had scrounged for their best photo of Spider-Man, all competing for the best, most heroic headline. With Spider-Man gone, everybody loved him, everybody wanted to claim him, everybody thought he was the best. If Spidey could see them now...

But he couldn't. Being dead and all.

It was the Daily Bugle who had the most to say. Their afternoon edition was all about Spider-man---all of it, extra thick and bursting with nothing but shining testimonials. It sold out almost instantly, and it was the only paper with that personal touch.

* * *

"Early this morning, Spider-Man was admitting to St. Luke's Hospital in Clinton, suffering from wounds to the chest and abdomen. He was pronounced dead at 1:36 AM from what the coroners say are wounds from the glider of Spider-Man's most visible rival, the Green Goblin. Authorities are unsure of whether or not Spider-Man was actually killed by the Green Goblin, as evidenced by the fact that the Green Goblin dropped Spider-Man off at the hospital himself.

"The body of Spider-Man has been identified as Peter Parker, a photographer for the Daily Bugle known for taking pictures of Spider-Man. His elderly aunt has declined to speak to us, and his room mate, Matt Murdock---rumored to be the violent vigilante Daredevil---, could not be reached for comment. Parker's employer, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, J. Jonah Jameson, had this to say:

_"He was a good kid. I'm not saying anything else on the subject, so GET OFF MY DOORSTEP!"_

"Memorials are cropping up all over the city, recognizing Spider-Man as New York's greatest---"

Matt couldn't take it any more, hitting the Power button on the remote and tossing it onto the nightstand. He missed and it clattered to the floor. The Night Nurse would get it when she came back. He was tired from crying and being angry, and now he demanded to be alone unless the Nurse needed to do something, left alone with the news. Matt couldn't even stand _that_ anymore. All he could do now was let the drugs take over and sleep.

* * *

The funeral took a few days to set up. It was a bigger affair than Peter would ever have wanted---or maybe he would have been happy to see so many people sad to see him go. Only a few were actually allowed into the ceremony, but there were people waiting outside, leaving letters and flowers and teddy bears on the wall of the cemetery. There was already a memorial on the doorstep of Matt's apartment building, more people coming every day. Matt was home by now, relying mostly on crutches to get around, and he'd had some people knock on the door and try to give their condolences.

The wake had been painful for everyone, but something ... strange had happened. Mary Jane had shown up, and most of the people had gone to Aunt May and to _her_, mostly avoiding Matt. Like they didn't know what to do with him, or _did_ know him and didn't want to go near him. It was fine, except that they kept speaking about Peter as if he were still married to MJ. Even in death, other people didn't see Peter as his---except for _Betty_, who had gone straight to Matt. Matt was thinking he might actually like her. A little.

Other superheroes were there. How could they not be? Tony Stark paid for everything. Susan Richards was sitting in the pews, ready to use her powers to lower Peter into the ground. Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards and Luke Cage carried the coffin into the cemetery, past the staff of the _Bugle_, former coworkers, Jordan Harrison and his mother. Some of the X-Men had turned out, Wolverine and Warren Worthington keeping mostly to themselves in the back. Felicia Hardy, looking like a black and white photograph in her mourning dress, Betty Brant (sans Ned, who was with the other _Bugle_ staff members). And right in the front, Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson on one front pew, May Parker and Mary Jane Watson on the other.

It was long and drawn out. Everyone who wanted to say something did. Tony Stark spoke of his intelligence, Steve Rogers of his bravery, Johnny Storm told a bunch of stories about messing around with Peter while trying not to cry. Betty told everyone how Peter made work that much more bearable, Robbie Robertson spoke for himself and for Jonah (who didn't seem capable of speech at the moment) when he talked about Peter's first weeks at the _Bugle_ when he was sixteen, watching him grow up. Even Jordan Harrison spoke, mostly in tears by the end and cutting himself off early to go sit back down with his mother.

Felicia Hardy, in a rare show of class and self control, kept it short and sweet. "The best man I ever met," she said. "Someone worth changing for. Too good. He was too good." And then she stepped down, returning to her seat, keeping all the best stories to herself.

Peter's Aunt May told stories about Peter as a child, hopeless and socially awkward and smart and sweet. And MJ... MJ was almost last. Just before Matt. Unlike Felicia, she had a speech, a memorial, a manifesto. Matt could only shake his head. You weren't married to him when he died, Mary Jane. You didn't even know he was missing. You left him. You knew how dangerous his life was, you knew what it was like, and you left knowing he might die without you. Stop telling them how much you loved him. You left.

Matt was the very last. His crushed, slowly-healing leg was bound up board-stiff, propped at an angle. He was in a wheelchair today, letting Foggy wheel him around, up onto the stage.

And yet, even though Matt had the most to say, he couldn't stay it. Or wouldn't. Wouldn't tell them how kind Peter really was. That he loved with everything, that he was devoted and dedication and unrelenting. That he was young and innocent when he had every right to be. That he was genuine, and genuinely cared for everyone else before himself, that he was strong and determined and had refused to stay down until he'd been stabbed in the heart. And that Matt had really loved him, no matter what anyone else said, and didn't tell him that nearly enough.

Instead, he was silent for a moment, waiting for Foggy to adjust the microphone. When Foggy gave him the go-ahead, he leaned forward, opening his mouth as if he would start up a long, heartfelt speech, and instead what came out was:

"None of us deserved him. He was better than all of us, and god damn you all for not realizing that until he died."

* * *

Matt was left mostly alone after that. Mostly out of respect. Tony and Steve had shown up days after the funeral while the cameras were there and asked people to back off and respect him---not as Daredevil, not as Matt Murdock, but as Spider-Man's lover. And they had backed off. Matt's leg was healing, but it would take a while; the damage was incredibly severe and would take months. Even then he would probably have a limp.

Foggy was really the only visitor. Aunt May had no reason to talk to him, of course. None of Peter's friends really wanted to come near him and his own knew to keep their distance. Though, one day, someone new _did_ come knocking on his door.

Matt dragged himself up, hobbling to the door on one crutch. He was a _mess_, still dressed in his sweats. Hadn't shaved since Peter's death. And he was none too hospitable, even if he _was_ opening the door.

"What are you doing here, MJ?"

And Mary Jane, she didn't flinch. Just like she had with Peter when Gwen had died, she was there with a purpose. There to comfort. So she said, "Peter wouldn't have wanted you left alone."

"I have a friend. It isn't you." Matt scowled, adjusting his weight.

"Just one?"

"What do you _want_?"

"We both miss him. You look like you haven't been out in days, and I have beer. If anyone knows about grieving and drinking, it's me." MJ lifted the beer she'd brought.

Matt hesitated, gripping his crutch. After a long moment, he relented, hobbling back in and grunting, "All right. Come in."

* * *

**Four months later:**

Jordan Harrison had a love-hate relationship with class trips. Really, field trips of any kind. The stupid jock kids always found a way to mess it up, especially if it was a science trip. He really wished that the trips were optional, but then the stupid kids would come anyway, to get out of class.

In any case, these environmental hike things were a terrible idea for all but a few. It was just asking people to goof off and mess things up and litter. Jordan did his best to ignore them. In fact, he kept mostly to himself, scribbling on his worksheet and keeping away from the ground as they walked through the park.

He was more observant than the others, or so he liked to think. He really looked at the ground, at the trees, at the sky----

At the underside of the _bridge_. There was some ... big bulbous _thing_ hanging off the underside of the old bridge in the park. People mostly stayed away because, to be honest, the bridge was kind of ugly. In a creepy, hobos-live-under-it kind of way, leading out and back into the city.

Jordan glanced back to the teacher, who was busy reprimanding some kid in a hockey sweater. Good. He turned back, making his way to the bridge. He could only see the edge of the thing, which looked white and kind of filmy, so he moved closer. There was a small, rocky ledge leading down to the underbelly of the bridge, like a little concrete cave.

"This isn't smart," Jordan muttered, crumpling his worksheet in an attempt to fold it and shoved it in his pocket. He wasn't exactly athletic, and climbing down that tiny, rocky wall was really dangerous. Somehow, he managed to get down with only minimal scratches and bruises, touching down and taking in a deep breath. "Teacher's gonna _kill me_..."

He looked up, mouth dropping open. "Oh, holy snot..."

It was large and round, white and filmy, bigger than he thought it was. It looked like it was made of tough, protective webbing, clinging to the underside of the bridge by thousands of threads, like some sort of egg sac.

And when a cloud moved and the sun hit it just right, there almost seemed to the outline of a person inside, curled up like a child in the womb.


End file.
